Transformers: New Humanity
by TeatimeDevil
Summary: (Transformers: The Last Knight, a decade later) Bumblebee—who now leads his own team of Autobots under the newly revived NEST alliance's tight leash—must figure out what became of Optimus Prime, all while keeping a watchful optic over an unnaturally detached human woman. AU. OC-centric. HIATUS.
1. Prologue

_A young woman, likely no older than the age of twenty-two, stared upward intently._

 _Insouciant to the rain falling against her face, she looked past the clouds_ _—_ _past the heavens itself_ _—_ _and into the realm of oblivion._

 _She understood why many despised the rain._ _If she were to be perfectly honest with herself, she also reviled the watery torrent to some extent for causing the indecent, squishy feeling that currently resided within her boots. But other than that minor setback, she found that, like with most things, she was indifferent to the atmospheric conditions that circumscribed her._

 _Putting the situational impediment into the back of her mind, she watched as if the world around her was attempting to wash away the sins of its residents, both native and alien alike._

 _All in vain, of course._

 _The polychromatic lights of the prodigious metropolis hypnotized her as she arched her head downward, her eyes glazed as she absorbed her monumental surroundings. Beads of besmirched rainwater trickled from the ends of her luxuriant hair, and she could feel the once wispy, elaborate makeup that had colored her sepulchral eyes begin to drip down her cheeks dolefully._

 _She blinked hard in a feeble attempt to be rid of the dazed feeling that beleaguered her brain. You see, s_ _he had a métier to take care of._

 _Her head officially snapped back to reality when she noticed a stygian vehicle careen into a spacious alleyway in the remote distance. It was dented and covered with deep scratches and scorch marks. Its configuration suggested that its make was that of a Ford Crown Victoria._

 _Without any reasonable doubt, this was her quarry._

 _The woman clenched her fists in anticipation. She had found it again. Although it appeared innocent enough to the average passerby, it was, in fact, quite the opposite._

 _With a beep and a dash of static, the comm-link in her ear suddenly began emitting a deep, baritone male voice; and in a split second of disconcertment, she allowed her attention to be diverted by the incongruous tone._

 _"Bingo. Go get that son of a gun. We're gonna tear that thing a new one," he said without an ounce of remorse, clearly enjoying this game of cat and mouse far too much._

 _The woman nodded as if her unseen companion was right there beside her (_ _an illogical action, but she didn't feel the need to chastise herself for it since there was something of far greater importance for her to take care of)_ _, and then flipped a toggle on her wristband._

 _For a moment, a light whir hummed resonantly throughout the frigid, moist air before a trenchant duo of metallic boosters abruptly shot out of the bulky metal pack that rested firmly on her back._

 _Wanting to make haste, she quickly picked up a large case that had been resting on the ground beside her burnished combat boots. It was a sorrel mahogany color, and there was a bizarre engraving stitched tightly into its riotous textile._

 _With a perfectly neutral expression, she unzipped the integument and pulled out her sole possession: a state of the art MA91 rocket launcher. After strapping the massive weapon to her shoulder, she took off in a sudden and spontaneous flash._

 _As a twin pair of cerulean lights wisped behind her both serenely and reticently, she closed her eyes in fraudulent commiseration as her target drew nearer._

 _Once she reached it, death was not a mere possibility, but an inevitability._

* * *

 _Detecting a pursuing object from behind, the Ford Crown Victoria screeched to a halt._

 _Civilians who were startled by the bedlam began to rush away, fearing whoever_ _—_ _or whatever_ _—_ _it was that had caused the commotion._

 _Once alone, it began to transform. The clashing of parts being disassembled and reassembled temporarily took over all of the other sounds in the precinct, including that of the all-encompassing pitter-patter of the pouring rain. And once it finished, it stood tall, revealing its true form to be that of an impossibly enormous, masculine mechanical being. It was nearly twenty-five feet in height, and its optics blared a violent crimson as it searched back and forth frantically._

 _"Come out, Autobot! Fight me servo-to-servo, you reprehensible coward!" it shouted, irritated and annoyed._

 _The mechanical being_ _—_ _or, to be more specific, the Cybertronian lifeform known as a Decepticon_ _—_ _was answered with a rocket shell exploding into its_ _—or_ _his_ _—_ _exposed chassis._

 _He roared in fed-up rage._ _"I'll exterminate you, you worthless pile of scrap metal!"_

 _Another blast came, and this time it hit him straight in his kneecap,_ _immediately causing his armor to disintegrate into a flurry of malleable metal and stray Energon droplets._

 _He_ _dropped onto his remaining knee, oscillating vertiginously from the unrelenting pain. Then, h_ _e held up his remaining arm-cannon and_ _fired a warning shot up into the air._

 _Much to his shock, the unknown blasts actually ceased. But before he could gather his thoughts, he felt his audio receptors twitch as they picked up the muffled, albeit discernable maelstrom of someone approaching him. Instantly noting that something was amiss, he frowned in acerbic confusion._

 _These footsteps couldn't have possibly belonged to an Autobot._

 _The advancing noise could only be described as...dainty. **Soft**._

 _His optics widened in nihilistic dubiety, and he growled in vexation._

 _Indeed, this was no Autobot. His attacker was human—a vile sack of flesh. His mind reeled, for there was no possible way that such a pathetic little creature had been hunting him for the better part of three Earth days._ _He promptly fired at the noise but was taken by surprise when a blurry object flew directly into his face. Whilst stumbling backward from the force of the hit, he attempted to swat at whatever it was._

 _Dodging the motion, the woman rocketed in reverse and alighted herself atop a building. She had lodged a boxy orb into the exposed, tubular circuits of his countenance; however, he failed to register this._

 _"You think you can play with the big 'bots, eh, bug?"_

 _The woman observed the squirming behemoth beneath her in absolute silence. Her expression was reminiscent to that of a child watching a burning ant under a microscope_ _—_ _disgusted yet intrigued._

 _The battered Decepticon sneered, his fiery optics never once leaving her pale, soporific face._ _"Nothing, huh? Unsurprising. I suppose a simple response is too much to expect from you and the rest of your brain-dead kind," he riled scathingly._

 _Upon hearing her prey's absinthial words, the woman felt a rush of relief. At last, the wild goose chase was finally coming to a close. Tired of his insipid and inane meanderings, she returned his steely gaze with equal fortitude. Waiting..._

 _The Decepticon sneered once more. He was more than well aware of what she was doing. She was looking down on him, for she had him right where she wanted him. Not only did she hold enough firepower in that little pea-shooter of hers to terminate him in an instant, but she had successfully backed him into a corner with no partner, medic, or anything else in between. Glaucous Energon was spewing out of his mammoth leg laceration like a frenetic spigot, and the pain he was experiencing was so intense that he felt as though he could lose consciousness at any given moment. But still, the hostile other-worlder determined that he would never yield, especially to the secondary race that his kind strove to conquer._

 _"That's it," he said lowly, aiming his disjointed arm-cannon at her. "Now, it's time you DIE!"_

 _There was an explosion of epic proportions, and once it quieted, the woman_ _—with her abnormally tenebrous blue eyes, and_ _her serrated, sopping wet pigtails_ _—_ _turned to look up at the ashen, charcoal sky once more. Now with the rain, excoriated pieces of the Decepticon's severed head crashed down mercilessly against the asphalt-covered Earth._

 _As if on some kind of queue, she smiled a smile that was clearly fake_ _, as it failed to reach her eyes._

 _Suddenly, a familiar beeping noise droned from the device in her ear, and t_ _he same baritone voice from earlier sounded from the opposing end. "Mission complete, agent Zero-X. You may return to base. Excellent work."_

 _With that, the taciturn woman known as Zero-X bowed her head and rocketed away, leaving the Cybertronian carnage far behind her._

 _It was someone else's problem now._

* * *

The ambiance of the Autobot base was anarchic and disorderly, and malcontent soldiers—both human and alien alike—were frantically racing back and forth in haphazard incertitude.

A fire had broken out in the dining hall, and it was threatening to spread outward into the main lobby. Flames licked the ceiling and soot clung to the thick armor of the yellow Autobot known as Bumblebee. Having no mercy on him, it stained the glistening new paint job he had received only a few weeks prior.

As he cravenly endeavored to halt the germinating flames by his lonesome, he was taken by surprise when the sound of rushing footsteps permeated his audio receptors. One after another, dozens of men aligned at the vestibule of the kitchen in perfect synchronicity, each directing their anti-firepower towards the now weakening inferno.

Without any time to vacate the premises, Bumblebee found himself just as caught up in the foamy onslaught as the raging flames were.

Swiftly transforming into his prototypical Chevrolet Camaro visage, he merely sat and waited impatiently for his colleagues to stop their involuntary attack on him.

Several minutes later, the fire was no longer in existence, and he chirped in a mock sigh of relief.

Once he finished metamorphosing back into his bipedal mode, the mighty Cybertronian disgruntledly trudged through the sea of foam, glaring at each and every one of the chuckling soldiers beneath him. The little mech had been completely doused, so much so that he now resembled a giant cotton ball more than he did a deadly robot from outer space.

Whilst making his way through the assemblage and towards Bumblebee, NBE-Major General William Lennox placed his hands firmly behind his back. His stature was standard for someone of his rank: pin-straight and formal. His face, however, deceived his otherwise serious posture as he vainly scrunched his lips together in a subdued attempt at holding back a laugh.

"Care to explain just what in the holy hell happened here, bud? Or am I going to have to weed out the story from one of you?" he said with a smirk, gesturing to the small troop of men who had gathered around to remedy the mess.

Bumblebee whirred in annoyance and quickly shot a metallic finger towards the charred carnage behind him. His vocal processor crackled with static as he sifted through thousands of radio channels in the span of milliseconds. _"If I hadn't been around the corner, (static) your ass would be grass."_

"Ah, so for once you didn't cause this m-m—" Cutting himself off before he could finish, Lennox exploded with laughter, no longer being able to hold it in. A mass of foam had dropped straight from Bumblebee's helm, landing against the floor with a resounding ' _plop!'_

Following their leader, the men began to let loose as well, the sight of the drenched Autobot before them just being too comical. But Bumblebee, who would have normally chortled right alongside them, just wasn't in the mood on this particular day. Too much had been going on between his team and their human superiors for him unwind. His mental state was currently weighed down by the incommodious responsibilities of leadership, and this pointless situation really didn't succor matters for him in the slightest.

After the soldiers' amusement came to pass, Lennox spoke yet again, the gravity of the situation hitting him with the force of a freight train. "From what I've gathered, this fire was abrupt, spontaneous, and massive. Seeing how it reached the height of the ceiling in only a matter of minutes, this is a big deal. With the entire kitchen burnt to a crisp and a potential danger to any human who enters it, it is imperative that whatever caused this be investigated and fixed immediately. You boys _—_ " He pointed towards an outlying trio of men. " _—_ gather further assistance so we can get this off our workload. The faster, the better. Chop-chop."

With that, the triumvirate of soldiers gave a salute and vanished after dashing down the capacious corridors of the base.

Lennox rotated to face the looming Autobot above him. He raised an accusatory eyebrow. "What a damn mess," he said tiredly. "Remind me again, 'Bee—you had nothing to do with this little mishap, right? _"_

 _"Ayy, we've got a winner!"_ Bumblebee cheered imperiously. _"This guy's smarter than he looks!"_

The good ol' commander had really been busting his solenoids as of late, what with keeping him and his remaining Autobot team in the dark about the latest Decepticon assassinations, along with several other essential things. And that wasn't even mentioning Lennox's reprimanding of _him_ whenever his teammates did something even moderately out of order.

Right now, all he could say was that he was covered in foam, annoyed, and copiously enervated. He didn't feel like himself at all and was well overdue for a protracted session in recharge. At the very least, all he wanted to do was go on a long drive. _Alone._ But of course, he wasn't allowed do that much either, what with him being required to keep a low profile and all _—_ which, by the way, seemed pointless considering the fact that the human race had been more than well aware of his existence for a good fifteen years now.

Lennox turned towards the group of remaining men and viciously cleared his throat. "Listen up, soldiers," he said brusquely. "This place is loading up with smoke, covered in fluffy shit, and crusted up worse than my backyard grill. Video feeds will be reviewed to see just _who_ or _what_ activated this nightmare factory. At this point, I imagine it was nothing but a gas leak, but right now, only the lord or Primus or whatever knows."

Suddenly, he shifted his focus back on Bumblebee. The last thing he needed or wanted to have to do was coddle a giant robot because he himself was exhausted, rankled, and sick of everything going awry at the base lately.

Softening his tone but remaining stern, he said, "Listen to me, Bumblebee. When you're not happy, I'm not happy. But one thing I refuse to tolerate is you talking down to me in front of my troops. While under my jurisdiction at this base, you will behave. Understood?"

Bumblebee's antennas faltered. _"Understood."_

Lennox beckoned to the two guys who were closest to him. "Aberdeen. Jackson. I want you both to escort our boy 'Bee to the indoor car wash in Division-4." Leaning in close to them, he whispered, "And make sure the foam he drags around the base is kept to a bare minimum. Even our janitors have been swamped with overtime."

Both responded with a grandiloquent "Yes, sir!" and saluted their leader floridly before walking away.

Bumblebee galumphed behind them, chirping discreetly as he wiped the downy substance from his metallic pedes.

The longer they walked, the more he thought to himself. And the more he thought to himself, the more he found that an especially cynical part of him felt it was mirthful that Lennox _—_ who was both leagues younger and smaller than himself _—_ had the gall to talk down to him as if he were a little sparkling. Regardless, though, the non-cynical, adult side of him knew that even if he were somewhat justified in his contemporaneous behavior, Optimus would never ratify his actions.

And for that, he mentally reprimanded himself, opting to follow behind his small pair of comrades in a muzzy, toneless silence.

* * *

Drift, Hound, and Epps sat in a tight annulus, each carefully ogling a set of cards.

The klaxon signifying the end of everyone's work-day had sounded off a good half-hour ago, leaving the troika with little to do. Since all of the training rooms had been locked up for the night, they had ultimately settled on a card game to relieve their boredom.

Because the cards were fun-sized when compared to their typical bipedal forms, the two Autobots had decided to activate their holoforms in order to play the game with Epps. Drift's was a lissome, dark-haired Japanese man of about the age of thirty. He had an attenuated but modish mustache, a slight goatee, and wore a standard suit and tie. Overall, his human equivalent was well-trimmed, statuesque, and radiated an aura of seriousness and respectability.

Hound's holoform, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired when compared to that of Drift's. His was a slightly over-weight American man who looked to be in his late forties to early fifties. He had a scraggly beard that came down past his shoulders, his physiognomy appeared to be somewhat flushed from rosacea, and _—w_ ith an indecorous cigar hanging loosely from his lips _—_ he sported a tattered, camouflaged military uniform.

When compared to one another, both Autobots were like night and day. On one end, there was Drift, who regularly spoke of honor and respect, whereas on the other, Hound existed for one purpose and one purpose alone: to blow things up and wreck people's shit.

While training, it wasn't uncommon for the duo to clash heavily with one another. They often got themselves into irrelevant contretemps that either Lennox or some other officer would have to reprimand them for. But outside of battle, they somehow managed to get along with each other just fine. By no means were the pair best friends, mind you, but they certainly weren't enemies either. If anything, the one thing they had in common was this: life with Bumblebee as their leader while the humans breathed down their necks twenty-four/seven was nothing short of a nightmare straight from the Pit.

However, in spite of those feelings, they still got along with many of the soldiers on the base—Epps being one of them. At the end of the day, the unearthly pair knew that the human warriors were just following their directed orders. Like themselves, it wasn't as though they had the authority to call any of the shots.

Epps suddenly smirked and proudly placed a card on the ground. "Go Fish."

Hound let out an interminable grumble. This was the third time he had lost. "These human games, I tell ya. What a pain in the aft."

Drift sighed and rubbed his facial hair, deep in thought. He had also been on a losing streak and was tired of looking at Epps's cocky grin whenever the divertissement came to a close.

Suddenly, his reverie was interrupted by the floor vibrating beneath him. An Autobot was coming, and whoever it was clearly hadn't had the best of days.

No surprise there.

The three looked above them in a laid-back silence. Bumblebee, who had just returned from the car wash, stood before them, leftover water droplets almost shamefully trickling down his yellow and black frame.

"You alright, big yellow?" Epps asked lightly, getting a read on the tension that Bumblebee was exerting. "Because it sounds to me like you need a quick shot of motor oil to calm those grinding gears of yours."

Hound suddenly perked up. "You sayin' we've had that available all along?" He shook his holoform's head in disapproval. "Damn this place _—_ always hidin' shit from us."

Bumblebee shot his helm up in frustration and raised his arms dramatically. _"You're telling me!"_

Epps promptly cleared his throat, non-verbally asking the mech if he wanted him to go grab the Cybertronian equivalent to alcohol for him.

Bumblebee narrowed his optics. _"I ain't havin' that shit."_

Epps gregariously patted the spot next to him on the floor. "Alright, then. How about a round of Go Fish? Maybe you'll pose a real challenge to me, unlike these chumps," he said jovially, a smug grin plastered across his sprightly face.

Hound shuffled the deck and spat his cigar at Epps. Epps dodged the playful attack, and Hound slapped the pile against the even terra firma in faux scorn. Bumblebee smiled at the bizarre squabble. Drift shot daggers at his rotund compatriot for his indecency. Epps, who was technically the victim in the situation, stifled a chuckle at Drift's sanctimoniousness.

It was a fun little moment, but like all good things in life, it was cut short. Abruptly and brutally.

The sickly-sweet voice of NBE-Lieutenant General Isaac Braginsky was suddenly broadcasted throughout the entire NEST base. _"This message goes to all Autobots and superior officers~"_ he said as if he were on cloud nine. _"_ _We have a situation. I repeat, we have a situation. Make your way to the Command Center immediately. I repeat, make your way to the Command Center immediately."_

Despite his light and bright tone, Braginsky was no man to be trifled with. With a constant smile slathered across his reptilian mien, he served to disturb and dragoon many on the base, both with his acts of incredible violence during training and his unnervingly thorough way of threatening someone. He was never to be joked around with or addressed casually, as it was clear that he had ample experience in the art of slaughterous warfare. Humans and Autobots alike made a point to steer clear of the hulking mass of muscle, as he was often just too creepy to stomach.

Even though he'd never admit it out loud, Hound himself was also a bit caught off-guard by the eldritch fleshling. His triple-faced nature reminded him of a particularly insane Decepticon he had once done battle with in the distant past.

The message went off yet again. _"This message goes to all Autobots and superior officers._ _We have a situation. I repeat, we have a situation. Make your way to the Command Center immediately. I repeat, make your way to the Command Center immediately."_

Not needing another reminder, Bumblebee, Drift, and Hound quickly transformed.

Epps climbed in with Bumblebee, and the three set off, morbid curiosity taking the threshold of their minds.

* * *

Bumblebee was unsurprised to find that he was the first Autobot to arrive in the Command Center. One of the things he was most well-known for was his speed, after all.

Not long after his entrance, Drift, Hound, and several other Autobots filed in.

On the massive screen that stretched the entire length of the room was an unambiguous picture of a singular, mangled Decepticon. Energon pulsated from the metallic beast's headless corpse like a free-flowing river, causing Bumblebee to cringe slightly. Lennox stood tall in the center of the room with Braginsky at his side. Dead silent, they both waited.

Five minutes passed, and once all of the necessary personnel had arrived, Bumblebee decided to say something to Lennox. Allowing his authentic yet broken voice to be heard, he asked, "Wha-at is t-this _,_ Ma-j-jor?"

Sideswipe, who had entered the room alongside Windblade, immediately recognized who the owner of the somatic Cybertronian carcass was. Internally noting that it had belonged to a medium-level Decepticon known as Dropspring, he said nothing as their leader spoke.

"Autobots," Lennox said stiffly, opting to address all of the aliens rather than just Bumblebee himself. "I believe it is finally time we let you in on a little secret."

* * *

 ** _A/N: The Lieutenant General is, in fact, an original character. I created him because I needed an antagonist of sorts who contrasted Lennox. I would've used Charles Galloway, but it's heavily implied in the later films that he was killed. Anyway, I hope this first chapter piqued your interest. I have a lot planned for this story, so I hope you'll stick around._**


	2. Meeting

The clock struck slightly past midnight, thus signifying the end of another grueling workday at NEST headquarters. Even though it had nearly been a full week since Lennox and Braginsky had consigned the breaking communiqué to the Autobots, none of them were truly over it.

The nonpareil paragon—otherwise known as NEST's upper-brass—had initially wanted to occlude the Autobots from the adverse tribulation, their reasoning being that their emotional sentimentalism would get in the way of orthodox, logical decision-making. Lennox, however, had managed to convince them that it was finally time for the Autobots to be informed of the truth. The way he saw it, with the brutal assassination of the Decepticon known as Dropspring making public headlines, there was simply no point in hiding it from them anymore.

Bumblebee, who had been granted salient acquiescence by the Lieutenant General, decided to go on a drive around the extended metropolitan area. He was completely at a loss. Six solar cycles had passed, yet he still couldn't wrap his helm completely around his new reality.

 _Cemetery_ _Wind_ —the cutthroat human consortium that had virtually annihilated all of the prevailing Autobots on Earth—was _back._

Cemetery Wind, the same organization that had snuffed out the innocent lives of Sam, Ron, and Judy Witwicky for no reason other than the fact that they had previously commensurated with the Autobots, was up and running again.

As Bumblebee drove by himself in silence, he reminisced on the meeting's events through his processor.

A heavy feeling weighed down his spark, and he couldn't help but wretch from the malodourous tonnage that trammeled his being.

* * *

"Autobots," Lennox said stiffly. There was an austere glint in his eyes. "I believe it is finally time we let you in on a little secret."

Upon hearing this, every set of audio receptors in the Command Center seemed to perk up in relief—particularly Bumblebee's.

For the past several months, Bumblebee had known that something was up. As the contemporary leader of NEST's primary Autobot constituent, he'd noted how Lennox had been purposefully withholding details about the Decepticon butcherings from him and the rest of his alien brethren.

On many occasions, Bumblebee had gone out of his way to try and drill information out of Lennox. But each time, the human had given him nothing, as the answers that he had desired were intelligence that he simply wasn't authorized to give out. Quite frankly, had he gone against standard punctilio and imparted him with even the most infinitesimal fraction of information on the matter, he, along with his entire vocation, could have very realistically ended up down the gutter.

Everything he had worked for in his latter decade of service hinged on him following every rule flawlessly. His Kafkaesque boss constantly scrutinized his operations; ergo, he had to habitually work by the book. Enlightening the Autobots—namely Bumblebee—about the specifics of the situational locus would have definitely made his life more comfortable, yes, but his loyalties towards his own government were steadfast. Prejudiced as it may have been, all he could say whenever they asked about the deaths was that it was classified—no ifs, ands, or buts. But now that his superiors had given him the green light to tell them everything, he was more than ready to do so.

Bumblebee moved his lip-plates to speak, but found himself being unintentionally interrupted another, much older Autobot. The voice had a drawn-out country twang, and it boomed across the room, catching everyone's attention almost instantaneously. "Well, it's 'bout dang time you Earthlings told us somethin' worth scrap 'round here! Another moment's worth of this bull-honkey and my core processor would've imploded! I'm just about sick and tired of you humans keepin' _us_ out of _our_ war!"

Bumblebee immediately recognized the owner of the sneering tonality. It was the eldest of the three Autobot brothers, X-Brawn. Although he agreed with every word X-Brawn had said, he internally blenched when he noticed that Isaac Braginsky was frowning. To see the man without a cold smile unfurled across his double-dealing mug was never a germane thing. He had learned that the hard way after not taking his presence seriously one time during a conference.

Lennox already had an inkling that his boss was on the verge of going into some type of mini-meltdown. Before the meeting even started, the guy had been radiating tension, clearly signifying that like everyone else, he too was under heavy stress. All 'Brawn's simple words of dissatisfaction did was fuel an already growing flame—one that was less than a mere spark away from a fully-fledged explosion.

Slamming his fists ferociously against the large podium before him, Braginsky cocked his head to the side in an almost homicidal motion. "Indeed, you like to know what the hell has been going on, wouldn't you? Well, guess what? We adults have a lot of hard work to get done around this dump. Autobot, your only purpose here is to eradicate those Decepticon abominations whenever we tell you to, got it? This isn't Cybertron; this is Earth. And here on good ol' planet dirt, we humans call the shots whether you like it or not. Just because you don't like reality doesn't mean that is our goddamn problem, you fuckheaded son of a bitch," he said darkly.

Out of nowhere, the thin smile he had originally been sporting returned, and his whole body seemed to relax in unbelievable spontaneity. However, his snaky, emerald eyes never once left the verdigris frame of X-Brawn as he said, "Any other words of wisdom from the peanut gallery? I would certainly love to hear any and all feedback, especially right now."

X-Brawn clenched his fists like he was about to go off. But Prowl, his younger brother, held him back by placing a firm servo on his shoulder. Prowl was also incensed but knew that trifling with the NEST superior would result in nothing but pandemonium for the rest of the Autobots.

Braginsky took in his nugatory triumph with a sharp smirk. Lennox, however, twitched an eye, lifted a finger, and swiped it across the wide-ranging screen before him. An ungodly blurry picture of what seemed to be a petite human woman appeared with a dull flash. Drift squinted at the image and then proceeded to raise an optic ridge in unimpressed riposte.

"I'm gonna make this short and sweet, both for your sakes and ours," Lennox said flippantly. "At the most recent Decepticon kill-sight, we were fortunate enough to recover a single video feed. An outdoor security camera just barely managed to capture this image. The graininess didn't allow for much improvement, as you can all see. But remember that the whole ordeal took place during the middle night, in the pouring rain no less."

Lennox switched to another picture, making nearly every Autobot in the room go obdurate. Skids and Mudflap, who had both somehow managed to stay quiet this whole time, let their mouth-plates hang wide-open at the sight before them. The final picture, although extremely grainy as well, was a close-up of the heavy-weight guitar case that had been sitting discreetly beside the indistinct woman in the picture. On the guitar case was the unmistakable logo belonging to that of the infamous organization, Cemetery Wind.

No longer being able to hold his piece, Bumblebee shouted, _"You must be joking! They're supposed (static) to be gone! Dispanded!"_

Hound infelicitously cocked his gun. Unlike the other Autobots, he was excited by the news. "Let me run loose after 'em, and they won't be around for much longer, I'll say."

A light mumble in agreement came from every Autobot and even some humans in the room. Lennox pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. This was precisely why they had been kept away from this case—emotions from the past clouded judgment. "Alright, that's enough!" he hollered. "Do you hear me? Enough!"

The murmurs and chitters faded in response. Not wanting to ignite another outburst, Bumblebee calmly—but angrily—raised a servo into the air.

Lennox sighed. "Yes? What is it?"

 _"The bad guys (static) all were shot dead. But the (static) heroes are (static) safe from danger."_

Lennox stepped back towards the podium, whereas his crude boss began methodically clearing the screen of its previous contents. "Thank you, Bumblebee. I was just about to touch on that. Yes, as all of you are aware, nobody from the resurrected Cemetery Wind organization has made any moves to attack any of you yet. Only Decepticons have been the victims of their schemes as of late, which I'm personally not bitching about. However, we can't be certain that this will remain the case. As you exit this room today, I want you all to be aware of your duties. I am assigning the team of Bumblebee, Sideswipe, Drift, and Strongarm to investigate this case. Sub-teams including that of the Autobot brothers, femmes, twins, bullet-trains, et-cetera, will remain stationed at NEST headquarters on standby until further notice. Is that clear?"

Saluting their leader, all of them responded with a sonorous, "Sir, yes, sir!"

Braginsky exuberantly came back up to the forefront of the room, much to everyone's dismay. "How nice. You are all dismissed!" he said in an overtly bonhomie fashion. "Oh, I should probably mention that those in the 'Bee-team will be the only ones made aware of any developments in this case. Unauthorized information shared amongst one another will be met with draconian punishment. Unless the situation changes, you will all continue forth without any updates. Ciao~ _"_

X-Brawn grumbled as he filed out of the room with the other Autobots. The youngest of the three Autobot brothers—Sideburn—regarded his older sibling with equal frustration. He desperately wanted to deck the slimy fragger for disrespecting his family in such an unfiltered manner. "I feel you, bro. Trust me," he said quietly. "Primus knows how much everyone hates that guy. I'd let go of that little red sports car forever if it meant I could kick his little human aft."

One after another, Bumblebee somberly watched as his Autobot comrades marched out of the Command Center. Once all of them were gone, he dragged his leaden feet across the floor in the direction of Lennox, who was now staring at him with interest. Crouching directly in front of the human, he let out an exasperated, static-filled whir.

Lennox was already thoroughly aware that Bumblebee wasn't the happiest with him as of late. With his recent amplified strictness in combination with his secretive antics, he could hardly blame the poor 'bot. And now that he had a new mission, especially just a few hours after the kitchen fire incident, he couldn't imagine that his current feelings towards him had improved any more or less.

"Listen, bud, it's been a tough few days. Both you and I have been swamped with work, rogue Decepticons are making moves again, and Cemetery Wind is back up and kicking. Right now, it's late, and I think I owe you a thing or two after everything that's been hitting the fan lately," he said with a tired smile.

In that particular moment, Bumblebee could see just how much Lennox had aged within the span of only ten years. Stress lines creased his forehead and mouth, and several gray patches were popping up above his ears and on the top of his head. Working for the military had clearly done a number on the guy.

There was something that seemed to be shadowing him. Just what that was, Bumblebee had no idea. Frankly, he doubted that Lennox would bother telling him if he asked, given his stoicism.

Nonetheless, he genuinely was concerned, even if he didn't voice it. He hummed in response to Lennox's statement and moved to stand back up in the process.

"Yeah, you heard me right. I think I'm gonna put in a special notice to the boss asking to let you off this weekend. He'll probably chew me into pieces, but we both know that's inevitable in this line of work. You get what you put out."

 _"But what about my post?"_ Bumblebee's altruistic, lazuline optics widened. _"Who'll take my place?"_

Lennox gave a nonchalant shrug. "Look, I'll figure something out." He began to walk away. "Just leave it to me and go about your week normally until then. Also, _relax._ It's been a while since you've had a real break. There's no need for you to become a workaholic like me, you know."

Bumblebee reached out a colossal servo towards the tiny Major. _"But_ — _"_

"Put a cork in it! I'll handle it!"

Bumblebee only stared on in defeated silence as Lennox drifted out of the Command Center, no doubt on his way to bed like all the other humans.

He felt contrite for having put Lennox through the wringer lately, what with reverting back to his childish mannerisms and such. For some reason, he could never seem to shake his youngling roots, no matter how hard he tried. Even after Sam and his family had been killed by the cruel forces of Cemetery Wind, he'd still somehow managed to retain a vestige of his juvenility.

And that wasn't even mentioning all of the Autobots who had lost their lives and had become their 'spoils of war.' He quivered at the memory of seeing Ratchet's disembodied head savagely displayed upon an examination table. The old medic had been something like a foster parent to him, right alongside the great and noble Prime. Getting over that trauma had been punishing and nightmarish for him, but like with most of his war wounds, they slowly but surely became obscured with time.

Even now, he still condemned himself for not being by Sam's side that day. All of their sides, really. None of those humans or 'bots deserved to die—not a single one.

For a time, albeit a short one, the Witwicky's had become his second family. It killed Bumblebee to know that not a single one of them was able to live up to their full potential. And it was all because of their war... _his war._ Their lives, along with the thousands from Chicago, were lost, and for what? The fight against the Decepticons was still well underway, and Megatron himself had been on the loose for quite some time now. Whenever he thought about it, guilt raked through his entire spark like a set of bloodthirsty claws, so he preferred not to.

Not once in his entire time on Earth had he seen humans capable of destruction like the ones associated with Cemetery Wind. After all, it was because of Cemetery Wind that the Autobots were framed alongside the Decepticons as enemies of the planet, and dozens of them were wrongfully slaughtered like flies.

Bumblebee shook his helm. That was the past, and because it was the past, it was neither here nor there. What currently mattered was the present and the future—nothing else.

With that in mind, he made a minute decision. For the rest of the week, he wouldn't so much as spout out a light beep in annoyance. He would complete the work that was required of him, and he would do it right.

Just like Prime.

* * *

The violent sound of a horn blaring filled Bumblebee's audio receptors, suddenly shaking him from his deep trance.

Immediately, he noticed something rather rib-tickling in his rear-view mirror. Behind him, a red-faced teenaged human boy was flipping him the bird. He stifled a radio-chuckle as he sheepishly realized that he had zoned out and was going way below the speed limit. Quickening his pace, he moved over to the right so that the angry driver could skirt past him.

He was currently on a quest to find an open beach alongside the Atlantic Ocean. There, he hoped that he would be able to sort out some of the leftover dilemmas that had been clouding his processor as of late, such as how to deal with the next outburst from the Lieutenant General or how to stop the brewing prank war that was going on between Sideswipe and the twins. Honestly, if he could've had it his own way, he would be fighting right alongside Sideswipe, letting Skids and Mudflap get the karma they oh so desperately deserved.

He knew that that was no longer an option for him, though. He was the leader now, and he needed to act the part. As much as he didn't want to have to deal with the struggles that came with the task of leadership, he was aware that he still had to step up and accept the new role, regardless of how he felt about it. After all, with no Ratchet, Ironhide, or Optimus left to do the dirty work, he was the one the humans had sicced the job of leader onto. And one thing he knew about his carbon-based comrades was that once they decided on something, that was the end of it. Every choice made by the NEST higher-ups was as solid as concrete.

But just as much as his Autobots sought guidance, so did he. Because at the end of it all, Bumblebee was still a youngling—a youngling caught up in something far, far greater than himself.

* * *

 _ **A/N: I decided to mention the version of Prowl, Sideburn, and X-Brawn from the 2001 RID series, along with Strongarm from the 2015 series just for the fun of it. They won't be important to this story, however.**_


	3. Blastos

_"Hey, do you copy? I repeat, do you copy?"_

Since the current situation was tremendously volatile, the only feedback Zero-X could provide was a monosyllabic grunt. As of this particular moment, she was being pursued. And for the very first time in her short lifespan, _she_ was the one who was running for _her_ money.

The Decepticon had managed to deliver her a massive blow by clipping her from the side mid-flight. She wasn't entirely clear as to how she had enabled the event to take place, but her shrewdest guesstimate was that she had miscalculated her trajectory as she was rocketing away from the contravening colossus. Nonetheless, the spontaneous sockdolager had inflicted extensive damage to her flight pack, and as of right now, she was grounded. Forcefully clutching her knees, she ran several simulations throughout the synapses of her otherwise blank brain. If she made one false move, she would most likely end up as splatter paint on the nearest brick wall.

 _"Listen to me, agent. We are currently tracking your coordinates. Hang tight until then, alright?"_

Zero-X pressed a viridian button on her suit and shifted her bodyweight precariously, causing the grass beneath her boots to susurrate in retaliation. "Affirmative," she whispered. "I will try to remain out of sight until assistance arrives. If I am spotted, then I will give the thing the runaround if I can."

The disembodied voice let out an arduous huff, and the herky-jerky click of a cigarette lighter carried across the channel. _"Alright, partner. Remember, if you can thwart it, do not engage. Without that flight pack of yours, despite your enhancements, there is still only so much you can do single-handedly against a thing of that_ _si—"_

The voice of Zero-X's unobtrusive assistant was suddenly interrupted by the shifty racket of the trembling earth beneath her. Surrounding cars clacked against the buildings they were parked beside, and dingy man-hole covers rattled in their circular concrete placement. The Decepticon was approaching, and quickly, she terminated the call. It was risky for her to have signaled into the base, but given the dire straights she was in, she didn't feel as though she had much of a choice in the matter.

Zero-X stood up shakily but was confounded when she inadvertently collapsed against the drab wall next to her. Clearly, the hit had done a bit more damage than she had previously accounted for. She cautiously explored her side, and her eyes widened when she noted the amount of blood that had soaked through her military uniform. Her hand was completely drenched in sticky, wet gore.

"That is a problem," she remarked straightforwardly, the sight of her draining vital fluids making her mentally backpedal in discomfort. Her slender and petite body had suffered punitive ruination, and she castigated herself for not heeding this factor straight away. Even though she was currently incapable of feeling pain, she was grimly aware that the situation was now infinitely more desperate than she had previously presumed. Not being able to fly represented one thing, but not being able to feel pain when she had an enormous, gushing flesh wound was another. She silently cursed her physician for being so thorough and then began to think to herself as she continued to shamble away from the rampaging Decepticon, Blastos.

The first thing she knew was that he was still on her tail. He likely wanted to finish the job either as a way of gaining pleasure or achieving vengeance for the injuries she had inflicted upon his frame. The second thing she knew was that he was approximately seventeen feet in height, a.k.a. far shorter than the average Decepticon, which was historically around twenty-five feet.

A few minutes of silence passed, but when the grating sound of the Decepticon's chalky voice suddenly filled her ears, she was shaken from her speechless musings. Grimacing from the pestilential wallop, she halted in her tracks.

"Where are you at, you slippery human bitch? I'm going to tear you to pieces when I find you!" Shifting his spartan violaceous optics, Blastos paused, and then said, "Although, I have to give you some credit. Megatron and the others were actually wrong about you fleshies. You're a whole lot stronger than you look. I mean, frag! You got my arm! Hence why..."

Zero-X flinched when she saw Blastos cascade an almost nuclear chartreuse light over the destroyed landscape around her. She knew what that meant, and she fumbled with her comm-device as a result. Without question, he was hunting for a heat signature. But before she could request for speedier backup, the light faded through her body, giving away her position.

"Ahh, there you are!" Blastos said, somewhat airily. "Human, I have to say this was kinda fun. You genuinely had me going for a little while there."

Zero-X began to run despite her body's weakened condition but tripped and fell. Obliterating every last bit of rubble that dared to get in his way, the purple and silver mech closed in on her with breakneck speed. He easily swiped her off the asphalt road and elevated her so that her pallid face was on par with his own.

Zero-X knew that her chances of making it out of this situation alive were slim. But still and all, she decided that she would never heel, especially to the vile, parasitic organism that firmly held her. Chuckling, Blastos used his thumb to tilt her chin upwards. Harnessing the maximum power of his optics, he merrily capitalized on his heat-sensing abilities in order to exploit her brain. Once he finished, he was slightly taken aback when he detected no rise in her cortisol levels.

Under ordinary circumstances, humans feared him greatly—not that he could denounce them for it, of course. After all, his entire species towered over the fleshlings like titans; even the smallest of his kind could effortlessly shred a human limb from limb if they ever so desired it. But this was highly puzzling. He had done battle with many human soldiers during his time on Earth, and every single time, without fail, whenever he trapped them in his grasp or beneath his pedes, their bravado always wavered. No matter how strong his victims were mentally or physically, when greeted with a painful demise, they always cracked. But this one, no doubt there was something seriously wrong with this one. Her mind was like a one-tracked flatline.

While squinting at the mechanical marauder before her, Zero-X realized that he had zoned out. She figured he was scanning her for whatever reason, and with that presumption, she knew that she absolutely had to do something to neutralize him. Feeling the Crockett in her palm, she estimated that she would have only one opportunity to strike.

Blastos growled, and his icy gaze widened as he continued to analyze the girl. "What in the name of Megatronus...?"

Suddenly, he was blinded by the flashes of multiple incandescent lights. A deep masculine voice thundered through a loudspeaker, which only served to disorient him further. "I see the thing! Secure the entire circumference of this area, men! Do _not_ allow it to escape!"

Blastos went rigid as the truth of the situation dawned on him. Human reinforcements had arrived, and now he was in deep trouble. He broke off into a run and nervously chuckled to himself as he regained his firm hold on the bleeding organic femme in his remaining servo. Just a short time ago, had you told him that the puny and miserable humans would one day become a substantial threat to his kind, he would've laughed in your face. He remembered vividly, when he'd first arrived on Earth some thirteen stellar-cycles ago, all they could do at most was scratch a Cybertronian's armor. It was quite sidesplitting, really, as back in the day they truly were pathetic.

Turning his faceplates downwards, Blastos recalled the time he had first witnessed a Decepticon fall by the hands of the humans. Lockdown (that Primus forsaken bounty hunter) had willingly given them access to sophisticated Cybertronian technology, and it had all gone downhill from there.

While stationed with another 'bot named Warpflash, Blastos had been silently keeping watch over an Energon mine Starscream had discovered whilst scouting the Earth. The humans had come out of nowhere, and he remembered his intrigue at the sight. Neither he nor Warpflash had possessed a single clue as to how they could have discovered them but hadn't cared since they figured they were no match for the two.

Warpflash had forced his way towards the fleet head-on, thinking that he could use his superior firepower to blow them all to smithereens. But he was stupefied when none of his shots made contact with the mini-armada. A rufescent force-field had activated in front of them all, and before he could register that fact, the humans killed him. At the time, Blastos could only stare agape in both amazement and fury as a legion of vermillion lasers tore his old comrade into nothing but scrap metal.

It wasn't until later that Blastos learned that the humans had managed to reverse engineer and modify Cybertronian technology, not to mention their entire fragging genome. And it was after Lockdown had been slaughtered by Prime and the exoplanet Cybertron had been destroyed that the once lowly humans really amped up their game. The Autobots were eventually taken back in by their military a couple of years later, and after mobilizing their combined strength, the two parties managed to put Earth's Decepticon population on the endangered species list.

Blastos had been lying low for years, silently waiting for his leader to re-emerge and make contact, but with little luck.

Until recently, that is.

One Earth year ago, he managed to decode a message from his Decepticon overlord. He knew that the memorandum was aged, but didn't care because Megatron's words were always eternal in his optics. Funnily enough, he had actually been merrily forging towards Megatron's specified coordinates when he was oh so rudely ambushed by that doleful soldier woman, losing his goddamned arm in the process.

Blastos scrutinized Zero-X as he hid. That blasted bazooka of hers had somehow managed to disintegrate the entire joint of his right arm, leaving the remaining bits of his appendage lying somewhere in the wreckage on the ground. The pain was severe, and he wanted her to pay, so he gave her a vengeful squeeze, which caused her to spit up blood.

"There he is! I've uncovered him! Flank his front, boys!" someone hollered.

Blastos sneered at the troop of men as they aimed their guns and cannons at him. Their leader came forward, holding a massive megaphone to his lips, and said, "Decepticon, let go of the girl, and perhaps we will consider letting you live."

Blastos chortled haughtily and thrust Zero-X in front of him, her head slumped. "You filthy meatbags don't get to make demands! So how about this? I—!" Before he could finish, he was cut off by an object being launched into his wiry muzzle. It clunked down his primary Energon line, and he began hacking in abstract horror as he heard a faint beeping noise sound from inside him. Zero-X had discreetly wriggled her arm, as well as her active Crockett, free from his hold, and had thrown the object with excellent precision as he was delivering threats.

As Blastos spat and gagged, he abandoned his hostage, opting to clutch his throat in barbaric trepidation instead. Zero-X hit the ground with a violent smack, which caused her unified body to shake since she had expended an excessive amount of blood.

Blastos looked to the bite-sized human platoon with absolute detestation. He opened his mouth, uncovering a hidden set of sharp, silvery denta, and let out a hiss of unbridled malice. But before he could curse his enemies, he was silenced as his entire upper half exploded, leaving nothing but a gurgling mess of scrambled bodyparts and flayed Energon lines behind.

* * *

The emergency klaxon at NEST-HQ blared with a violent, repetitious clamor, signaling to all personnel that a Decepticon had made contact with a residential area.

Immediately kicking into gear, Lieutenant General Braginsky ordered the 'Bee-team to handle the threat. Once the global ground bridge was activated, the Autobot quartet launched themselves through the portal with desperate haste.

Bumblebee, who was followed by Sideswipe, Drift, and Strongarm, took cover at the base of a crumbled building. It was eleven at night and fires the size of houses seemed to spring up from nothing. Smoke billowed from the rising flames, and fear-stricken humans littered the streets, stumbling over one another as they tried to escape the oncoming hellfire.

Concerned for the people's safety, Bumblebee turned to Strongarm and said, _"Those people! Get them_ _(static)_ _away from danger!"_

Strongarm gave her commanding officer a salute and wordlessly took off in the direction of the organic chaos.

Bumblebee motioned for Drift and Sideswipe to follow him while he continued to give out commands. _"Side (static) swipe, (static) create fire blocks!"_

Sideswipe returned his leader's order with a serious frown, and then set off to work in the direction of the populated area.

Drift had something important to say to Bumblebee, so he comm-liked him for quicker conversation. _"Bumblebee, my sensors indicate that the Energon trail of the Decepticon known as Blastos is extremely close._ _He is infamous for utilizing heat-based weaponry, which no doubt is why this area has been set ablaze. Based on the surrounding damage, I am inclined to believe that we may be a tad late."_

Bumblebee shook his helm in frustration, then nodded and also utilized his comm-link so he could communicate more efficiently. _"Right now we'll have to leave the fires up to Strongarm, Sideswipe, and any specialized humans in the area,"_ he said. _"Our chief priority is to find the loose Decepticon, and either capture him or offline him."_

 _"Right,"_ Drift replied, his sensors sweeping over the demolished area yet again.

As the two Autobots explored and surveyed the area, they stumbled across a few humans that had been trapped under some rubble. Fortunately, no bodies turned up, but neither had any signs of the Decepticon. But as Drift snatched an adolescent boy from the wreckage, he, Bumblebee, and Strongarm were suddenly pulled into a joint communication hub by Sideswipe. Clearing his vocal processor of the soot and smoke that clouded around his air vents, Sideswipe said, _"Uh, guys, I think you might want to see this."_

Bumblebee raised an optic ridge worriedly. _"Did you find the Decepticon? Where is he? What is your current position?"_

Sideswipe flung his servos towards the sky in dismay. _"Whoa, whoa, boss 'bot! Enough with the questions, alright? Look, yes, I found the Decepticon, but he's a bit, uhh, scrapped to oblivion?"_

Strongarm sighed. She really hated how blunt and forthright Sideswipe was, especially during urgent situations. Drift didn't like it either, but had tracked Sideswipe's signal and was in hot pursuit. Bumblebee performed a quick scan to see if any other humans were in danger, but gathered nothing and squandered no time in catching up with his teammates.

It took roughly five minutes for the tetrad to gather at the exact location. When they all got there, they each showcased a revolted expression. The Decepticon Blastos had been mutilated beyond recognition. His entire head and upper-torso were gone, leaving only his charred aft and legs behind. His disfigured legs twitched at random intervals, and his internal circuitry was violently splayed over a vast radius. Drift thought he saw a piece of what could have been an arm in the nearby rubble but wasn't entirely sure.

A viscous liquid comprised of Energon, human blood, and oil pooled around all their pedes. Strongarm shivered, as did Bumblebee. Cemetery Wind had struck again.

Sideswipe averted his gaze and backed away from the puddle. But then he saw something strange. "Bumblebee! Look at that!" he shouted as he pointed towards a neighboring building.

Bumblebee focused his optics and saw that on top of the crumbling structure laid a battered and bloodied human male. His lush chestnut hair was matted with dirt and blood, and several cool-colored bruises coated his previously white flesh. The man appeared to be alive but unconscious; his chest moved up and down as he panted labored breaths.

When Bumblebee and his team got to the man, they all immediately recognized the heavily pocketed black military uniform he wore. On one of those pockets stood the unmistakable regalia of the party responsible for this Cybertronian slaughter-fest, officially tipping them off that this man was an agent for Cemetery Wind. Noting the steely gleam in Bumblebee's optics, Drift took it upon himself to gently place the damaged man in his palm. A quick screening indicated that among several life-threatening injuries, he had a broken arm, a fractured collarbone, and a shattered leg.

Strongarm shuffled next to Bumblebee and offered him an introspective look. "Sir, my police monitors indicate that humanitarian assistance will be arriving within a few minutes," she said. "We must leave right now before we are caught and blamed for this mess."

"Yeah, let's book it. This whole scene is starting to mess me up," said Sideswipe.

Bumblebee couldn't help but agree, so he pressed a dial on the side of his helm, silently signaling back to NEST for a ground bridge pick-up.

Drift stared at the crumpled bundle of tissue in his palm. "Bumblebee, what do you suggest we do with this man?" he asked.

Taking in the unpleasant sight before him, Bumblebee responded with a stern, _"We will transport that man (static) back to base."_

Strongarm gave her leader a nod of approval and turned to face the flashing cerulean vortex before her. The ground bridge was up.

At that, all four ran inside, not wasting another second to stand around idly.

* * *

"Hey, wake up! Zero! Zero!"

Zero-X shivered; the air around her felt almost painfully gelid. And on top of that, some vexatious irritant wouldn't stop shouting her name. The voice was emphatic and loud, and the terrible noise seemed to reverberate inside her skull.

"She's not responding. Shit!"

The world around her was devoid of any and all color. All she could make out was an immeasurable space of inky blackness. And for once, she felt a horrid, unbearable pain leech up her side. _The anesthetic must have worn off,_ she concluded sleepily.

"Zero! Ugh— _Angel_ , answer me!"

Instantly, Zero-X's eyes flew open, and her lips parted, eager to vocalize an annoyed retort. She squinted from vertigo before rapidly glancing around to see precisely who had called her by that abominable nickname, and after a blurry moment's worth of searching, her vision cleared to behold the sight of a bonny face. "Jett," she said blankly.

"Angel! I thought we'd lost you," he professed, grasping his heart dramatically. The man, otherwise known as Jett, then rested back in his chair and propped a tattooed hand against his face.

Zero-X was reluctant to do anything but offered a vacant reply to her solitary visitor. "Do not refer to me by that designation, Jett. It is illogical, for my branding is Zero-X."

"Come on, Angel. It's charming. It's also much more human-sounding than that damn codename. And for bonus points? It's a helluva lot less redundant," he replied, letting out a pleasant laugh.

With her eyes still trained to the ceiling, Zero-X merely repeated her prior sentence. "Do not refer to me by that designation, Jett. It is illogical, for my bran—"

"Alright, Jesus Christ, I get it. But don't think I'm going to give up on you, partner," Jett declared as he playfully waved his hand back and forth.

Zero-X didn't bother to respond. Rather, she quietly closed her eyes once more. She possessed little interest in entertaining Jett's wonted rubbish while she was in such a quadriplegic state. Not to mention, to be this damaged after engaging in battle was an indubitable first for her. She needed a moment to reflect on her follies, and his overall presence was less than unhelpful.

Taking the heavy silence as his key to leave, Jett stood up and glided towards the exit with a somber look in his eyes. Stopping for a second to take a glimpse at his battered workmate, he frowned. This was a nasty blemish on her otherwise perfect track-record, and he knew the big cheese wouldn't be ridiculously happy about that.

Exiting the medical bay, he set off in the direction of his quarters, furrowing his brows as he did so. When his platoon had returned to the base, it was discovered that three of the twenty-five soldiers hadn't turned up during the headcount. More likely than not, they were either incinerated or just plain slaughtered by the shrapnel of the blast during the altercation, which meant that he would have to go under disguise and scout the ruins the following day with the civilian rescue crews.

Jett nibbled his lip, annoyed. Corpse hunting was always a shit job. But he and the boys had gotten lucky. The Autobots had been nothing short of a hair's breadth away by the time they had all evacuated the scene.

Reaching into his pants pocket, Jett whipped out a pack of smokes and a purple lighter. After lighting the end of his cigarette, he began reflecting on his partner's present situation.

Somehow, he just had a hunch.

Things were about to get interesting.


	4. Pigtails

Bumblebee chittered in relief as the lengthy meeting finally came to a close.

His assignment was to meet up with his teammates at the Interrogation Center, which was located in the second division of the NEST headquarters. It had been a whole month since he and his party brought back the injured Cemetery Wind agent, and a whole month since any more Decepticon assassinations had occurred. Right now, things were stagnant. Concerned with the silence, Braginsky and Lennox felt that it was necessary to group up and have a recap over the case's recent lack of development.

As Bumblebee wandered down the spacious and vast corridors of the compound, his processor buzzed with activity. His thoughts kept shifting back to the fuzzy picture of the mysterious Earth femme. Upon his arrival at Blastos' death scene, he had made sure to scan the entire radius of the battle zone in the hopes of detecting her, but wound up short. Human investigators came to discover that the same type of weaponry had been consistently deployed in that attack as well as the others, confirming that, at the very least, she had been present to carry out the Decepticon's death sentence. Their current theory was that Cemetery Wind was dispatching small groups of agents to known Decepticon locations, and she was merely working as a part of a much larger unit.

Another thing that had piqued Bumblebee's interest was the blood. After Strongarm, Sideswipe, Drift, and himself had exited the area via the global ground bridge, Lennox dispatched multiple NEST soldiers to join the civilian clean-up crews the following day. Several blood samples were discretely taken from the gory mess, and needless to say, many fascinating things were uncovered.

The blood that was found on a nearby brick wall was the most promising. After it was sent to a forensics lab to be processed and scrutinized, it was discovered that the blood's owner was of Eastern European descent, female, and genetically pre-dispositioned to be of smaller stature. Also, most strangely, what appeared to be microscopic nanites were found laced within the person's clotted erythrocytes. Other slides taken from the scene indicated that the majority of Cemetery Wind's agents were male, so it wasn't entirely illogical to assume that the woman from the picture was the owner of the single blood sample.

In addition to all of this information, the woman—whom the 'Bee-team members had all temporarily christened as 'Pigtails'—was on more drugs than any of the human medical officers could count. What they mostly consisted of was pain-killers, which meant that she likely felt little to nothing at all in the realm of pain, and quickly explained how she was able to carry out such superhuman feats. However, in spite of those discoveries, the other medications found entwined within her organic bio-network were completely unaccounted for, which greatly fascinated both Braginsky and the upper-brass as a whole. None of the mystery drugs could be matched to anything in the NEST database, meaning that the new rogue Cemetery Wind organization was developing experimental opiates behind the scenes. No doubt it was with the purpose of enhancing the physical fortitude of their members on the field.

Bumblebee hummed to himself in macabre wonderment. He wasn't educated in the realm of human medicine; that had been Ratchet's strong suit. But from what he could understand about the organics' medical science, it was this: if too many drugs were injected into a person, more often than not, it equated to a bad time for all. Whether that be the loss of mental clarity, proper motor-skills, or anything else—this situation suggested something incredibly bizarre and contrary to everything he had previously known on the matter.

Pigtails had been involved in the take-down of seven ruthless Decepticons in the span of eight months. The targeting of each attack suggested a sound presence of mind, and the sheer truth that she and a couple of other humans had been able to out-maneuver something five times their size was nothing short of mind-boggling. The prospect that Cemetery Wind had been able to enhance a human being to such a point not only piqued Bumblebee's interest but shook him to his very spark. Such enhancers in the hands of a previously violent and very presently hostile organization just spelled disaster to him. The fact that at any given time, the Cemetery Wind agents could begin targeting the Autobots again had sent all of them on edge, even if they were stationed inside the safe and secret confines of the NEST base.

Bumblebee turned a corner and tilted his helm absentmindedly as he passed the now functional dining area. The damage from the fire had been repaired within the first three days of the incident, but he still internally chuckled whenever he recalled the messy debacle. Even though the situation had been irksome to him at the time, he now found it pretty amusing in retrospect.

Very few soldiers were scattered around the large, brightly lit room. Some men and women were actually consuming their meals, whereas some others utilized the space as a sort of socialization hub. Bumblebee smiled as he noticed a group of his comrades mirthfully laughing alongside one another around a table. Passing the room by in content silence, he continued his steady pace towards his desired destination. After trudging down several more long corridors, he finally caught the sight of his teammates in the distance. As he approached them, he rolled his optics when he realized Strongarm and Sideswipe were arguing again.

"Sideswipe! I told you to be quiet," Strongarm hissed. "Our superiors are probably just around the corner."

Sideswipe crossed his arms arrogantly and rested against the wall. "I'm not seeing 'em, so quit mad doggin' me, or you'll be sorry."

Strongarm laughed condescendingly. " _I'll_ be sorry? Please, if you're talking about one of your stupid pranks, then I would love to see you fail. I'm sure Braginsky would be more than happy to exercise his vocal skills on you once again."

Sideswipe held back a wince from the memory. Yeah, that _really_ hadn't been a fun time. "So what if Braginsky accidentally got caught up in that rubber cement prank? It was a one time mistake! Plus, I think we can all agree that the guy deserved it. In that sense, I'm a hero. As a matter of fact, you should be thanking me."

Strongarm shook her head superciliously, looking down on the slender mech before her. "There you go again—never taking responsibility for your actions. Sometimes I seriously wonder how you're still on this team."

Sideswipe shuddered his optics in irritation. "Says you, you slaggin'—"

 _"Enough!"_

The two suddenly halted in their tracks, taken aback by the yell. It had come from Bumblebee, who was now tapping his pede in annoyance. _"You both are older than me, (static) so cut it out."_

Drift, who had been silently observing the squabble as one would a trainwreck, concurred Bumblebee's statement with an adroit nod of his armored helm. Sideswipe gave a fed-up shrug and slid downwards into a sitting position, whereas Strongarm pretended to be occupied with the module on her wrist, embarrassed.

Finally, after waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Lennox, Braginsky, and a few other men turned up. One of the men cleared his throat and looked up to the Autobots. It was the Chief of Interrogation. What his name was, Bumblebee could not recall. "As you all are aware, we have been trying to extract information about Cemetery Wind from their agent, whom we have kept under watch here for quite some time now," he said. "However, despite his wounded condition, he continues to stand his ground."

Sideswipe tilted an optic ridge. Yeah, he knew exactly where this was going.

"It appears that this individual has been desensitized to the face of both common _and_ uncommon human authority. Since we remain no closer to uncovering Cemetery Wind's newfound intentions, this obviously poses an issue for us. Ergo, for the sake of both experimentation and time, we have called you 'bots here today to aid in this pressing matter."

Drift said, "In short, you would like us to assist in the interrogation process?"

Lennox nodded. "Yeah. Let's just say this guy has been rather uncooperative. The brass has concluded that perhaps with the assistance of an Autobot or four, our little friend might be more inclined to loosen his lips an iota."

After Lennox said that, Braginsky dourly instructed the team to switch into their holoforms before entering the gigantic room. Bumblebee tensed in unwanted expectancy. The idea was simple: if the guy didn't cave under human pressure, then maybe he would be swayed by the presence of several deadly, hulking Autobots. He didn't like it, and he knew Optimus wouldn't either. This wasn't how an Autobot was supposed to do things; they never stooped to scaring or intimidating humans in order to get their answers. But unfortunately, at the end of the day, it just wasn't his call to make, which frustrated him to no end.

Bumblebee could tell that Drift and Strongarm were also against it, but the NEST higher-ups had spoken, and as long as they were on Earth, no Autobot had the right or authority to refuse their orders.

* * *

The psychological manipulation began before the Chief of Interrogation even opened his mouth.

The unknown Cemetery Wind agent—a man who was later identified as someone who went under the alias Franz Lebowski—was questioned at different intervals over the span of five hours. His hospital bed was wheeled into a corner, far away from any light switches or thermostats, and there were three chairs directly placed in such a way that they encircled the bed, which incited a sense of exposure, isolation, and powerlessness into him. Right from the start, it was apparent that he'd been worn down from the days of prior questioning. His injuries, still tender and raw in some places, certainly did not help his case very much. But for the first hour, he continued to resist giving out information.

First, the Chief of Interrogation spoke to him. Next, Lennox joined in. And after him, Braginsky. The Autobots in their holoforms hung back during this time, as their primary directive was to surround and intimidate Lebowski with their presence. But by hour four, his get-me-out-of-here sensation was stumbling into overdrive, and they all knew he was ready to crack.

Bumblebee wordlessly peered into Braginsky's snakelike eyes as he and his team re-entered the room in their holoforms, coming back from their quick break. Lennox and the Chief appeared to be somewhat uncomfortable in their seats, which made him conclude that Braginsky must've made a horrifying threat or two during their time outside.

Once they re-positioned themselves behind their three seated superiors, the Autobots merely stared at the injured human before them. Drift vividly recalled the night in which he had brought the stranger in. Lebowski had bled all over his entire servo, and he had been confident that he was destined for death. Astoundingly, though, he'd been stabilized within the first two days upon his arrival. Drift marveled at the humans' medical abilities. Lebowski, although still broken, was now functional and on his way to a permanent recovery.

Lebowski, who had been standing his ground all this time by remaining mostly silent, finally let his voice be heard. Bumblebee noticed several beads of sweat drip down the side of his pained and rugged face as he said, "Oh, so you brought in your voiceless little puppets again, huh? Well, fuck you. You can waterboard me for all I care, and you still won't get anything out of me."

Braginsky lit up. He placed a firm hand over his mouth and moved forward, visibly excited by the prospect his prisoner had offered to him. "Hmm... Well, with how things are going, I think that could be arranged~"

Lebowski flinched his legs under his bedding as his cortisol levels rose. The Chief of Interrogation held up his hand, signing to his boss that he was to cease making threats. Braginsky crossed his arms in an almost childlike manner, imitating a sulk.

Lennox leaned in close to Lebowski and said, "We have laid out our offer to you. Rat your buddies out, and you won't face any charges. We know Cemetery Wind is behind some type of illegal drug lab. You have nothing to lose here."

Lebowski sneered and spat straight in Lennox's face.

Lennox recoiled as he felt Lebowski's sticky saliva drip down his cheek. Though he was disgusted and more than a little enraged, he wore a placid, unaffected look on his face. And as he silently wiped the substance from his cheek with the back of his sleeve, he said, "Alright, it's been five hours, and we've got nothing. I think enough is enough, so you all know what to do from here."

"Are you sure?" Strongarm asked.

"Absolutely," Lennox replied.

Strongarm hesitated. "If you say so..."

Lebowski's eyes mooned in abstract horror as the people who had stood silently before him dissipated into a flurry of cerulean sparks. Outside, he caught the vicious sound of metal clanking together, and only stared wide-eyed as each massive Autobot filed their way into the room through the gatelike entryway. As Bumblebee, Sideswipe, Drift, and Strongarm approached him, he laid rigid, absolutely paralyzed. Those aliens were fully capable of slaughtering his people like ants, and right now, he was on their hit list. He started breathing focused breaths to calm himself down. He could do this. After all, it wasn't like those NEST freaks were about to sic those monsters onto him, right? _Right?_

Then he remembered.

He glanced at Braginsky and shivered. The son of a bitch just sat there, creepily smiling down upon him. _Shit_ _,_ he thought worriedly.

Sideswipe was the first Autobot to speak after Lennox and the other humans moved out of the way. But before he did, he kneeled in front of Lebowski and poked him lightly with his digit. Lebowski instinctively drew back from the touch, which shook him from his fear-filled trance. Sideswipe noticed this, and suddenly, a wicked idea crossed his processor. Bumblebee and Strongarm exchanged glances. Drift merely observed the oncoming mess, knowing that, at the very least, it would be mildly entertaining.

"HUMAN!" Sideswipe boomed, raising a fearsome fist into the air, shocking everyone in the room. "You will tell us who you work for, or you shall pay the price!"

The force and proximity of the yell caused Lebowski's scruffy hair to fly backward. He desperately tried to stifle a quiver at the intense and aggressive tone Sideswipe was displaying but failed horrendously.

Just as Sideswipe was about to go off again, the agent finally cracked. A good week's worth of keeping his mouth shut was rendered obsolete in only the span of a few seconds, which made him want to die. "O-Okay, fine! I give!" he shouted, the floodgates finally opening. The Chief of Interrogation pulled out a tablet from his jacket and subsequently handed it to Braginsky.

Taking a merry step forward, Braginsky pugnaciously shoved the rectangular machine into Lebowski's simpering face. His eyes unveiled a hefty show of relief. This whole debacle had been going on for far too long, and all he wanted was a good bottle of vodka. "Magnificent. Now, you will answer our questions, and you will not lie, because..." Aiming a finger at the Autobots, he said, "These aliens? They can tell when someone is lying. And if you lie to us, well, you know."

Lebowski did know, and he hated himself for what he was about to do. He was going to betray his superiors, his fellow men, and their greatest asset—but he couldn't stop himself. He had seen the carnage committed by Cybertronians and felt threatened and scared.

Moreover, the message he received from the sinister NEST liaison was clear; if he didn't talk, well, what good was he for? Dying by the claws of murdering mechanicals was not how he was gonna go.

He refused.

* * *

"Uhh, hey, somebody stop that thing," said a svelte man to his table of comrades.

There was a slight mumble in agreement, but none of the other men could be bothered to move from their seats.

"Come on, just let her eat," Jett said, but then he stopped. "Wait, did you just say _thing_? _"_

The two were interrupted by the unbecoming sound of Zero-X ferociously gnawing on a slab of meat. She had spent the entire day in the training center with her superior officers, honing in on her abilities and practicing new killing methods. She was overworked and hadn't eaten since breakfast, which was at six in the morning. Right now, it was nine in the afternoon.

As she continued to devour the mass of questionable animal flesh before her, the man beside Jett nervously rubbed the back of his neck in response to the inquiry he'd been presented with. "Well, at this rate she is going to go through our entire food reserve, yeah? You're her partner. Don't you think you should, well, do something about it?"

Jett shrugged, signifying his indifference. "She's a grown woman. I say live and let live."

The man stood down and began texting someone on his phone, whereas the other soldiers at the table went back to eating their meals and playing their card games in silence.

After about twenty minutes of Zero-X's ravenous chomping and the soldiers doing whatever, Jett felt the need to stand up. Making his way to the opposite end of the table where his partner sat, he stopped next to her. Just as she was about to bite into a freshly cooked chicken wing, he firmly grabbed her wrist. Looking up from her threatened meat, Zero-X silently and passionlessly waited for Jett to explain himself. Ruffling his finely trimmed hair, Jett cocked his head to the side and gave the strange woman before him a half-smile. "You've been at it for a while," he said. "I think I'm gonna stop you before you make yourself sick, Zero."

Zero-X took a moment to survey the mess of empty bowls and plates around her, then nodded in robotic agreement. Her partner's words were logical.

The soldiers around them continued to pay their eccentric workmates no mind. At the genesis of it all, it was indeed rather strange. No question there. But after a while, the men and women just had to get used to it. Jett, the badass sounding, full-body tattooed ex-military fighter, almost coaching a, well, whatever the heck Zero-X was. It was actually kind of jocular in a zany sort of way.

Jett took Zero-X's small hand in his and began leading her away from the dining hall, reprimanding her for taking on such long hours. This continued on for quite some time. The two simply walked around the base with Jett doing most of the talking while Zero-X listened in silence. It had been Jett's goal ever since he had been assigned to partner up with Zero-X that he would teach her more conventional ways of communicating and behaving. Despite everyone's trepidatious feelings concerning the idea, he didn't care. He had grown genuinely fond of his sullen companion and felt as though she deserved to see the world through a clearer lens. The Director could say whatever he wanted, but Jett knew that she was much more than a tool to be utilized- to be enslaved.

The pair stopped their journey in front of the door to Zero-X's quarters.

Zero-X gave Jett a silent nod, implying that she was ready to hit the hay.

Jett snorted. "Angel, just say something."

"I told you to refrain from calling me by that nickname."

Jett cracked a friendly grin. "Gimme a break, girl. You let me and the boys call you Zero now, so why not Angel?"

Zero-X just looked at him with her head tilted slightly to the side. If she were to be honest with herself, she didn't truly know what possessed her to allow the shortening of her designation. Thinking back, her inaction to stop it seemed almost out of order.

Jett groaned in defeat while flopping his hand back and forth in front of him. "Goodnight, Zero. I'll see you in the morning." Just as he was about to walk away, he stopped when he felt a slight tug at his shirt. Immediately, he sighed and looked over his shoulder. A sharp set of eyes stared deeply into his own but softened at his gaze.

"...Goodnight, Jett..."

Jett smiled warmly and gave his little friend a good ruffle on the head before leaving. Progress was such a rewarding and beautiful thing.

Turning the knob of her door, Zero-X (or maybe just Zero?) entered her quarters in a ritualistic fashion. After taking a speedy shower and changing into her sleep uniform, she lied down on her cot, a.k.a. the hard metal berth that was propped against the wall by the far side of her room. Her back was perfectly linear, and her eyes were trained to the white ceiling above her. It took some time, but after a while, she was lulled into the sphere of endless nullity. Darkness encompassed her entire being, and she dreamed of nothing at all.

Hours passed, and she remained dormant in equable slumber until she heard something amiss.

An alarm went off, abruptly waking her from her dreamless repose.

* * *

Bumblebee clicked the side of his helm, readily preparing his comm-link before the action commenced.

A small squadron of NEST soldiers stood around the perimeter of the newly located Cemetery Wind base, some shivering from the cold October wind. Lennox held his walkie-talkie firmly in his hand as he scanned his foggy surroundings meticulously, both for any potential traps or hostile guards making their rounds.

Just then, a figure came into view. Bumblebee narrowed his gargantuan lazuline optics in uneasy confusion. This wasn't the man they were after. In fact, it wasn't a man at all. It was a femme, and a bijou one at that.

Lennox stared forward with interest, his face hard and his body tense.

The phantom-esque woman pulled a sizeable vertical object out from her bulky guitar case, and right then and there, Bumblebee and Lennox were acutely aware of who it was in the distance.

 _Pigtails._

Problems were about to arise.

Lennox pounced at the duffle bag beside him, fumbling through his gear in search of a means of self-defense as Bumblebee sent out a sporadic message to his teammates. _"She's got a weapon! All the soldiers with me, fall back!"_

As Bumblebee and his small troop of men ran for their lives, soldiers stationed around the margin positioned to take fire. Zero ducked into a minor alignment of trees, evading their shots with incredible expertise.

The vicious crack of a rocket shell colliding with the ground sent shivers down Bumblebee's spine. He didn't dare look behind him, for he already knew that an Autobot-sized crater now took the place in which they had all previously stood.

Zero rushed around her verdure barricade, preparing to launch another rocket. As she trekked through an array of thick trees and shrubs, she was suddenly knocked off her feet by a massive, metallic hand. Her organs swished within her abdomen angrily, and bile crept its way up her throat bitterly. But before she could make a single finger to the trigger of her weapon, her entire body was encompassed in a climacteric hold. The clutch of her rocket launcher dug roughly into the side of her neck, and although she could feel the pressure from it, she couldn't feel the pain from it.

Zero twisted viciously and vengefully. She had been taken hostage by the enemy once more. It was a mistake that was never supposed to happen again; it was a folly that made her blood boil. She peered upward to see who the offending alien was, but she was instead greeted with an anomalous sight. Above her was a set of curious blue optics—the bluest she had ever seen, in fact.

The mech was slightly shorter than Blastos had been. He also sported a consistent pattern of yellow and black, but that was irrelevant. For the first time ever, Zero seethed. Bumblebee, who could only stare in bewilderment, comm-linked Lennox. _"Commander, we have a situation."_

Lennox was quick to answer. _"What is it? Is someone hit?"_ he asked.

 _"No,"_ Bumblebee replied tautly. _"I know this isn't what we came here for, but I caught the shooter. Lennox, I'm afraid reinforcements will arrive. They know we're here."_

Lennox shifted on the other end. _"All right. Troops, I'm calling for the ground bridge. Move out and withdraw!"_

Bumblebee began to run back in the direction from which he and everyone else came, firmly but carefully restraining the pigtailed woman in his servo. As he ran, he examined her face and was shocked by how harmless she appeared to be. She was doll-like and refined in mien, but her lusterless stare and spiky hair harshly contrasted her otherwise docile appearance.

Bumblebee couldn't stop himself from retracting from her invasive gaze. She was staring him down in a disturbing, animalistic manner. And as he entered the vortex of the ground bridge, he heard her speak.

"You will regret this," she said, her hollow voice wintry and malevolent. "You will regret this."


	5. Prisoner

"Skids?"

"Yeah, Mudflap?"

"I'm bored."

"You and me both."

The twins had been lazing about the Autobot lounge for the better part of an hour, initially playing video games on the big-screen to fritter away useless time. But once they finally had enough of " _Destroy All Humans!_ ," they came to the unforeseen realization that they had already completed the majority of the games in their arsenal. Since they weren't really interested in replaying the other titles, they found themselves roped back into their own self-inflicted standstill of ennui.

Skids picked up a stray piece of scrap metal and mulled it over in his servos, bending and twisting the debris as though it were a slab of playdough. As he did this, he looked to his equally dopey brother with an expression that was reminiscent of a lost puppy. A day prior, a contentious thought had crossed his processor, and he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to bring it up to his judgemental sibling. Flopping on the metal couch behind him, he huffed impassionately while Mudflap mindlessly walked circles around the perimeter of the lounge.

After a good two minutes of vapid silence and Mudflap's repetitious meanderings, Skids finally had enough. His sixteen-second attention span couldn't handle the monotony any longer. "Err, 'Flap..." he began cautiously. "Have you ever, I dunno, wondered what it'd be like to interface wit'... Well, _not_ a Cybertronian?"

Mudflap furrowed an optic ridge, his attention suddenly drawn to his counterpart. " _Not_ a Cybertronian?" he repeated. "Wait, you mean like a human? You're askin' me what it'd be like to interface wit' a human?"

Skids felt a jolt of unease run down his back at the sound of Mudflap's accusing inquiry. "'Flap, I'm appalled you'd even ask such a thing. Absolutely disgusted. How would somethin' like dat even work, anyway?"

Mudflap shrugged absentmindedly, completely lost as to what Skids was going on about. "What didya mean, then? A Velgroxian? A scraplet? It's not like interfacing could really work wit' those things either."

Skids suddenly perked up. "You know, a Velgroxian is as good a thing as any to start with. Better than a human anyway, since we're friends wit' a bunch of 'em. What do you imagine it'd be like, what with all those jaggy bits 'round their eating holes? Imagine being spark-to-spark wit' somethin' nasty like dat lookin' back at ya."

Mudflap carefully pondered this question. "I dunno. Hold on, aside from havin' to stare into its wormy nastiness, what you're also wonderin' 'bout is the physical sensation of the act, amirite?"

"Well, sort of. In a scientific sense, of course."

"Right. Well, we know those things can spit out webs from their slimy mouthy bits, so what 'bout those? I'm guessin' they'd get all tangled up in your spark chamber, yeah? Kind of a turn-off. Literally. So Velgroxian fun time likely wouldn't be, uh, practical. Or fun."

"When you put it like dat, it sounds pretty horrible."

"Duh. What could be better than the classic route?"

"Space barnacle interfacing?"

"I think we should save dat conversation for another time."

"Hmm... You know what? I feel like a brand new mech now dat I got dat off my chassis. It's like I'm some kind of scientist or somethin'—analyzin' and interpretin' animal behavior and whatnot."

Mudflap crossed his arms in satisfied agreement. "Solving the mysteries of subspecies interfacing. We should be hired for National Geographic. You bring out the best in me, Skids."

Skids felt his spark swell with appreciation. "You too, Mudflap."

"...What the hell did I just listen to?!"

The yell startled the twins right out of their giant metal seats. They hurriedly set off in the direction of the lounge entryway but grew baffled once they got there. There wasn't anyone there.

"Down here, you idiots!"

The pair looked beneath them and saw that their mystery eavesdropper was none other than Lennox himself, which was surprising. It had been a while since they had seen the guy, so his spontaneous arrival was something straight out of left field.

Lennox positioned his arms firmly behind his back and stepped past the two intellectually challenged Autobots so that he wouldn't have to look at either of them.

Leaning over to Skids, Mudflap whispered into his audio receptor so that Lennox wouldn't hear. "Look at dat face, bro. Homeboy be lookin' like Tom Cruise wit' late-stage AIDS."

Lennox groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. His massive salary could suck it right about now. All of the money in the world wasn't enough to have to deal with this torment.

"E-Ey, boss!" said Skids, obviously a tad nervous. "Anythin' you need us fo'? And you didn't catch much of dat, right? _Right_? _"_

"Of course he did, moron!" shouted Mudflap. "Didn't you hear what he jus' said? Especially wit' dat colossal head of yours."

"Hey, you shaddap, ugly!"

"Ugly? We're twins, dumbass."

"Quiet!" Lennox yelled. "Also, I don't want to know."

"But—"

"No!"

The two stood stiffly, a nasty feeling permeating the bowels of their Energon chambers. Lennox was mad, and when he got mad, he got _loud._ It was a rare sight to behold, as their human leader always seemed to have a tight lid on such emotions. But presently, he wasn't in the mood to tolerate any of their nonsense or mischief.

Mudflap bit his metallic lip anxiously. Lennox may have been small, but he certainly had an atmosphere about him whenever he wished to exert it.

"Listen up, you two," Lennox barked. "We have a new prisoner being housed in the base, which means we need guards on duty at all hours. This one's slick and unpredictable. She's already tried to escape a handful of times, and it's only been a little more than a day. Eyes must be on her at all times. You two, as ordered by Braginsky and myself, will make yourselves useful for once. You will guard her cell in the early mornings from five to twelve. Is that understood?"

Skids could feel himself getting jittery. Lennox looked freaky—like a vein was about to burst out of his head. "Eh, this sounds pretty important, Major..."

"It is. You two have been whining for eons about wanting better jobs, so here you go. I don't have time to argue over this; you two aren't my chief concern. I have to go back to the Command Center and deal with some important matters there." Lennox began to walk away but unexpectedly halted in his tracks, causing the twins to shift their weight in surprise. "This is a serious job, boys. We absolutely _cannot_ have this girl escaping her cell. I can't have you goofing off on this one, got it? If a hostile Cemetery Wind agent were to get loose while under the jurisdiction of NEST, the brass would have all our heads."

"G-Got it, sir," Mudflap replied hesitantly. Man, he just wanted this to be done and over with.

As the rough tapping of Lennox's apoplectic footsteps faded down the hallway, Skids and Mudflap collapsed back onto the metal couch before them, relieved that they were no longer under such invasive scrutiny.

So much for finding something fun to do.

* * *

Bumblebee let out a vexatious chirp and shut his optics from weariness.

He was stationed outside of an alignment of holding cells, mundanely waiting for his shift to end. When he had brought the rambunctious femme back to NEST, all hell seemed to break loose afterward. She was cuffed, blindfolded, and led off to the human medical wing, but not before fighting a good fistful of soldiers away. Whatever magic bullet Cemetery Wind had blasted her with made her as strong as a forklift.

Bumblebee had tried to be gentle while holding the little lady, but a few times she threatened to squirm and thrash her way out of his grip, and because of that, he had to tighten his grasp. It wasn't until Lennox had taken custody of her that he realized that she had a deep, bloody dig on the side of her neck. No doubt it was from the clutch of her weapon, which was promptly confiscated by the nearest team of weapons specialists. He had felt a pang of guilt arise in his spark when he had realized that he might have inflicted harm upon her, even if it was involuntary. He never liked seeing humans get hurt, no matter what the circumstances were. Although Pigtails had wanted to send him to the Pit for her capture, he remained sympathetic, because if he were in her position, he'd probably feel the same. It was simply in his nature to be thoughtful and understanding.

Though he didn't owe them much, Bumblebee loved humans. He loved their music, their behavior, their culture—everything. Even the way they looked captured his interest. Though some of the other Autobots had come to dislike Earth, he embraced the strange, aloof world with open arms. He never got to see much of Cybertron; by the time he was created, the war had already been well underway for hundreds of thousands of years. Earth was like his adoptive home. It was packed to the brim with enthralling alien lifeforms, and its people—although highly imperfect—reminded him of his own.

Humans and Cybertronians, beneath the flesh and metal, really weren't all that different. When Bumblebee looked into the eyes of humans, he saw something painfully familiar. Their aggression, fear, neurosis—everything about them was so close to the point that it stung. Some humans were always up to no good, cheating and lying their way through life, stepping on those beneath them, but the same went for Cybertronians as well. The Decepticons were a prime example of that postulation.

The clarity of one's eyes, whether they be human or Cybertronian, always told an invisible story to Bumblebee. When a person achieves a certain point of mental suffering, they will sometimes do insane, irrational things. In some instances, they focus their pain inward, only hurting themselves more in-depth in the process. Other times they reflect their internal anguish outward, creating a sort of domino effect which leads to further suffering and heartache. Before coming to Earth, Bumblebee hadn't thought it was possible for a species like the human race to exist. Sure, he had seen other lifeforms before during his wartime space travels, but never before had he witnessed creatures that rivaled his own to such a vast degree. He knew that this was the reason why some Autobots hated humanity. They saw the same capacity for hatred and violence within them, and it forced whoever it was to look inside themselves and wonder. But he had faith in humanity, even if they didn't always have faith in him. Physically they may have been different, but inside they were so very much the same.

Despite the crummy way the Autobots were treated at times, Bumblebee couldn't truly blame the brass and some members of the public for not holding his kind in high regard. As resentful as he may have been at times, it wasn't as though they were completely devoid of reason. The death toll of the Chicago massacre was equivalent to that of 9/11, which made the introduction of Cybertronians to humans not exactly a pleasant one. Although it had been over a decade since then, things really could have gone much worse in retrospect. Currently, relations were doing alright, and they only seemed to be improving with each passing day. But that was getting off-topic.

Even though Bumblebee didn't want to see the woman come to any harm, he still remembered that she had not only attempted to kill him but Lennox and the other soldiers in their troop as well. That alone was attempted mass murder, and it wasn't even mentioning the fact that she was affiliated with Cemetery Wind—an organization that willingly and almost joyfully slaughtered his comrades by the dozens, including innocents, such as Sam Witwicky.

With that thought in mind, Bumblebee forced himself to reel back his empathy a click. He currently had no idea as to whether or not the woman was working for them of her own volition, or if she was somehow coerced into their spidery web by some other means. Considering the brutal and carnal behavior she displayed after he took her in, what with her going so far as to bite one of the men restraining her, it seemed as though the latter option was unlikely.

Sitting up against the door of the cell, Bumblebee flicked through several radio channels, wearily in search of some good music to help him through this seemingly endless shift.

He was utterly spent, and the prospect of losing himself in a good jam session sounded nothing short of heavenly.

* * *

Zero purposely sat crouched in the dusty dark corner of her cell, far away from the metal bench that was made available to her.

She had been this way for quite some time now, her mind sifting through escape plan after escape plan. She knew with absolute certainty that there was an Autobot posted outside of her door; the small tremors that occurred whenever it walked around didn't help it much in the way of secrecy or stealth.

But she felt her concentration wavering, primarily due to the raging rock and roll music the unknown Autobot was blasting, and because she knew she was well past her due date. She had gone a full twenty-four hours without her diacatholicons, and she was starting to feel the effects of withdrawal.

Knowing that the shakes would set in sooner if she continued thinking about it, she began a steady count towards infinity.

* * *

An hour or two must have gone by, but nobody came.

Zero couldn't call for back-up because the NEST soldiers had made sure she was stripped of any and all communications devices. This was a blunder she knew she would never be able to redeem herself for, and shame ate away at her already empty stomach like acid through a hip flask.

She rested her small body against the solid cold wall next to her and stared at nothing in particular as she allowed herself to become encompassed in the stentorian rock music that invaded her ears. The singer's voice was gruff and filled with all kinds of emotions. The lyrics continuously referenced a need for sleep and escape, which made her conclude that the songwriter likely suffered from insomnia. "Jett would enjoy this," she muttered unenthusiastically. "That man always badgers me with his strange tastes."

Stretching out her left leg, she pulled her right knee in close, hugging it to her chest with both of her arms. She sat like that for a decent while, letting her mind drift on autopilot, but before she knew it, there was a harsh and sudden knocking at her cell door.

 _"Hey, are you (static) alive in there?"_

Zero, now a little bit miffed, said nothing. She hadn't realized that the radio had ceased making music. The voice that had made the query was undoubtedly coming from it, though. Writing the grainy utterance off as some quirky malfunction, she continued doing nothing, practically reveling in the silence that followed.

 _"Are you okay? Answer me."_

She continued to remain silent, her lips firmly set in a fine line. What was going on here? Was that inconsistent, shifting voice being directed at her? Oh well, it wasn't relevant anyway. She had no interest in making conversation with anyone, let alone her captor. All that mattered was that NEST was going to pay for their transgressions against her company. She'd make sure of it. It was her sworn duty.

Then she heard the creaky sound of the doorknob turning. An attractive young man walked through the doorway and looked into her cell, which was separated by a four-inch-thick barrier of bulletproof glass. If she could have, Zero would have kicked through it a long time ago, but even she wasn't strong enough to commit such a feat—enhancements and all.

"Hey, Pigtails."

Zero scrutinized the person that stood before her, her voidlike eyes sucking in each and every aspect of his prepossessing features. The first thing that stuck out to her was his shaggy blonde hair and finely tanned skin. He was slender yet muscular, and his face radiated youth like the shining sun. He was probably her age, if not a year or two older, and was also of shorter stature. She imagined that if she stood directly next to him, he would probably have a good foot on her height-wise.

In addition to all that allure, he wore a plain black t-shirt which had a single pocket with a dull, rusty-looking crimson logo pinned onto it. Zero narrowed her eyes and immediately recognized the insignia as belonging to that of the Autobot party. He also wore a bright yellow pair of sweatpants that had two black stripes running down each side. He didn't appear as though he was apart of the NEST association even remotely. If anything, rather than a top-secret military base, he looked like he belonged in some type of avant-garde race car.

The arcane figure ruffled his hair and gave a light sigh. "Not gonna talk to me, Pigtails? I figured as much. Well, I should let you know that you'll be here for a little while longer. Some other guys will be taking my shift soon, so I felt like I should warn you beforehand. They can be..." He stopped, his mind scanning for a proper word to use. "Abrasive. Yeah, abrasive."

"Pigtails?" Zero repeated, the word slipping from her tongue like a viper. "I will not be acknowledged by such an informal designation, aberrant."

Now it was Bumblebee's turn to be confused. "Aberrant? I'm sorry, what?"

"..."

Noting that she wasn't going to clarify her bizarre language towards him, Bumblebee headed back towards the door. He had wanted to be a little nice; the other guards had left her alone for hours on end without so much as a drink to sip on. He had sensed that she was beginning to stress out, and even though his central voice of reason had told him to stay put outside the door, his spark had wanted him to go in to see if she was doing alright.

Looking at the steely woman one last time, Bumblebee asked, "Who are you, then?"

Nothing.

"Hey."

Nothing.

"Come on."

Nothing.

"Really?"

Nothing.

"Pigtails?"

Upon hearing the offending nickname, Zero felt a sickening twinge of annoyance swell up inside her chest. "My branding is Zero-X. However..." she said, trailing off apathetically.

Bumblebee didn't say anything; instead, he just stood there and waited expectantly for her to finish.

"...I have been encouraged to shorten my designation. If I am not to be placed in solitary confinement for further holding, just Zero should suffice."

 _Okay, that isn't a name humans typically have. And_ _branding?_ he thought after giving her an understanding shake of his head. _It must be some sort of codename_ — _an alias, like Lebowski's. I'll have to inform Lennox._

Bumblebee stepped out of the room and closed the door, feeling uneasy. It was Skids and Mudflap's turn to watch over the unsuspecting little femme, and he honestly felt pretty bad for her.

The dynamic duo had a lot of stupidity to share, and share it they most certainly would.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _ **Rescue Bots- Velgroxians/The Velgrox**_


	6. Withdrawal

Zero shuffled her feet as she was escorted down the dark gangway of the NEST command post. Two brawny men had her seized by each arm, and her wrists throbbed since they were bound tightly with heavy tungsten restraints.

The more the trio traversed the lengthy and foreboding hallway, the more Zero noticed that there weren't any bends or curves, and there were very few lights. Each wall was aligned with an impenetrable door to a fresh, surreptitious cell. Stopping in front of one of the doors, the guard to her right swiftly opened it after swiping a holographic keycard through a thin, rectangular slot. Fishing a primitive silver key from his pants pocket, the guard to her left hastily unlocked her cuffs and curtly ushered her inside. Before she knew it, the door slid shut with a quiet hush, and the two callous men left almost as quickly as they had come. Looking around the odd area, she found that there wasn't much there—just a bed, a table, a toilet, and a sink. The sheets of the bed, as well as the tabletop, were a monotonous shade of gray. The floors and walls were a smoky gunmetal color, and a singular yellow light dimly hung from the ceiling, just barely illuminating the already dreary and shadowy space.

Zero made her way to the bed and sat down, taking note of the minuscule flecks of dust that puffed off of the sheets when she did so. It was evident that NEST rarely housed prisoners. The room had obviously been abandoned for quite some time. Though she wasn't bothered by the dust, she thought it would be best to clear it up. With an acute flick of her wrist, she pulled the blanket off the bed and promptly shook it out. Wrapping herself within the gossamer cotton, she recalled her night from the day before. She had been allowed to bathe, brush her teeth, and eat some food—all while under close supervision, of course.

When she had arrived back at her temporary holding cell, she had been greeted with the dubious sight of two mangy Autobots before being caged behind the thick bullet-proof barrier once more. While in the corner, she had been forced to listen to the unpleasantly idiotic conversation that had gone on between the two scabrous aliens, which happened to go a little something like this:

"...Mudflap, I was jus' standin' there. And then here comes this human guy. The meeting starts, and he stops in front of me..." The voice suddenly became slurred and muddled. Zero recalled that she could barely understand what was being said to begin with. "...They call him Daniel McDoucheworthy. A right dickhead, I'd say."

The other one—Mudflap, was it?—had replied, "Skids, dat ain't possible. He can't be a dickhead 'cause he's a twat..."

The voices subsequently faded out again. This had continued on until Zero finally passed out from exhaustion. At that time, she had been awake for nearly two days straight. When she finally woke up, the two brusque men had been standing above her ominously, and before she could get so much as a yawn out, she was being led away towards her new confines.

Zero folded her arms around herself miserably. Two days had gone by, yet she was still without her medicine. There were foreign aches and pains all over her body, and the side of her neck stung mercilessly. The fact that NEST had cut her off from her nostrums cold turkey was a more painful torture than she could have possibly expected. She craved the chemicals akin to how a castaway lusted for freshwater. Her entire body trembled automatically due to the lack of pharmaceutical sustenance, and her mouth watered like a rabid animal at the thought of returning to the Cemetery Wind medical bay.

Burying her head in the rectangular pillow, Zero bit the inside of her cheek. It was a vain distraction from her internal tribulations, but it was better than counting.

 _Escape,_ she ruminated.

She had to escape this nightmare.

* * *

 ** _Cemetery_ _Wind Outpost: Two Days Prior..._**

* * *

Jett thundered down the halls of the base stringently.

The emergency alarm had been set off by the watchdogs on guard duty, and everyone was racing around on edge. There was an intruder positioned in the foliage outside, and their sensors indicated the unmistakable trail of an Energon source. A Cybertronian had located their nerve center, and needless to say, that was a massive problem. His current mission was to meet up with Zero and regroup at the center of the plaza. The drills specified that if under enemy scrutiny, the pair was to align with the other soldiers outside in a sort of make-shift stockade.

As men and women hastily made their way past Jett, he muttered to himself in envious rejoinder. The most he could pull off was a light jog, given the situation with his knee. Scowling into the darkness around him, he clenched his teeth hard as he pushed his damaged limb to the limit.

Jett audibly sighed in relief when he finally came upon the door to his partner's quarters. He gave the solid metal a harsh whack and shouted out her name with extreme urgency.

Nothing. There was no response on the other end. What the...?

"Zero!" Jett yelled once more. "Get out here! We've got justice to do!"

Dead silence. Something was wrong. Zero would never disobey an order, no matter the cost. She was engineered to be the perfect soldier by the Director of Cemetery Wind himself. Though she had made some progress, Jett knew she wasn't any closer to approaching the breakthrough he had hoped for.

Jett braced himself. Whatever was going on here, he was about to find out. Taking a few steps back, he rushed the door with all his might. With each slam, the hinges dented and shook from the herculean force.

 _ **BANG!**_

 _ **BANG!**_

 _ **BANG!**_

 _ **CRACK!**_

Jett barely had any time to react before the hinges snapped and the door came crashing down. He bashed his head against the busted metal frame and winced when he felt a cut open up on his forehead. A stream of carmine blood trickled its way down his striking face, but he brushed it off with his forearm, not caring about the resulting mess in the slightest. "That's gonna leave a mark," he muttered sarcastically.

He proceeded to look around the dull, mostly empty room and was caught off guard when he saw that the window beside Zero's berth was wide open. Wanting to check every inch of the place before jumping to conclusions, he temporarily filed that bit of information in the back of his mind. Whilst fiercely opening the restroom door, he hollered Zero's dreaded nickname.

He knew that no matter how hard he tried, she would always shake off his nickname-making advances. He wasn't entirely sure why, but she seemed to despise his monikers for whatever reason. There was no response to his call for arms, which made him come to the full cognizance that his partner was long gone. She had hopped out the window, likely in response to the blaring siren.

This wasn't what he had expected at all; Zero was the epitome of obedience. Never under any circumstances whatsoever did she dare go against protocol.

Jett decided he would try channeling her through his comm-link, but was interrupted mid-action when he felt his cell phone buzz. Whipping the device out his pocket, he answered the incoming transmission with modest intrigue.

A ragged, hoarse voice said, _"Special agent Jett Sterling. It certainly has been a while, hasn't it?"_

Jett stiffened. He knew that voice all too well. Christ, every high-ranking operative did. Without any reasonable doubt, he was now speaking to the elusive Director himself. "Sir! To what do I owe this—"

 _"Sterling, we have business to discuss."_

Jett blinked, puzzled as to why his boss was calling him. "With all due respect, sir, we are currently under Cybertronia—"

 _"I guarantee you it's an Autobot,"_ the proprietor answered matter-of-factly. _"I have already directed the weapon to go deal with the trespassing nuisance. The second our sensors caught the whiff of Energon, I was informed immediately."_

Jett scrunched his nose. He didn't like how his boss called his partner 'the weapon.' "Wait, if there's a possibility that its an Autobot, then shouldn't we fall back?"

 _"We've stayed out of their business for a long time, but if those godforsaken aliens want to trifle with the bull, then they'll get the horns. I'm sure your little leviathan will have no trouble exterminating the pest."_

"Sir, she's going out there alone? _"_ Jett questioned angrily. The well-mannered operative couldn't help but raise his voice then. Zero wasn't infallible; she made mistakes. He had learned that fact the hard way after she had been dragged back from Blastos' death parade half bled-out. The gash on her side had been big enough to stuff his entire fist in.

 _"Weapons exist to be deployed, agent. If there is another faux pas, then I'll replace this prototype with another, more effective hybrid. We all know I have more in my arsenal."_

"But, _sir_ —"

 _"Sterling, you will not question me. If I hear another word come out of your mouth, you're canned."_

Jett clenched his teeth and helplessly bowed his head in defeat. The line went dead. Whatever reason his boss had originally called him for was never answered. He turned and fiercely punched the wall behind him, creating a significant dent in the etiolated plaster. He felt a nasty feeling arise in the pit of his gut. No matter how much strength, speed, or endurance Zero had, if she were to be caught again, there was only so much she could do by her lonesome. He was aware that she could take care of herself. But regardless of that fact, he found himself growing more and more uneasy as the seconds ticked by.

Jett set off to the indoor central plaza. When he finally hobbled up on the space, he and several other servicemen waited impatiently for further instructions. The vicious crack of a rocket shell sounded off in the distance, and for a moment, he thought everything had gone as planned.

Thirty minutes later, that hope was ground into bits. A team of scouts had returned, and they all wasted no time in assembling at the center of the plaza. Waiting officers stared at them in silence, looking a bit too placid for Jett's liking. The head scout, a haggard woman, stood tall before all of them. When she spoke, Jett felt his heart drop to the floor.

"The prototype has been captured!" she bellowed straightforwardly.

Jett sucked in his breath. _Shit._

"The NEST cooperative has discovered the location of our sub-base. According to the Cemetery Wind board, we will be evacuating this outpost tonight!"

 _Double shit._

"Until further notice, agents One-X, Two-X, and Three-X will be deployed in the absence of Zero-X. Should we face any Autobot or Decepticon interference, they will take over her exterminatory duties!"

 _Triple shit._

* * *

Seven days passed, yet nothing seemed to change.

Zero had been forced to adapt to a routine. It was one that was predictably timed and mind-numbingly redundant to almost every degree imaginable. When it was discovered that she'd been suffering from symptoms of withdrawal, she was immediately wheeled into NEST's hospital division for treatment. To contain her thrashing, she was forcibly strapped down to a stretcher.

By that point, Zero's mind had clouded over completely. The only thing that she could think of was her medicine. She mindlessly walloped and bit at the nurses who dared to go near her, which promptly resulted in them placing a mouth guard over her face. She had involuntarily resigned to her addictions, as instinctive fury was the only thing she could register. Even if the world had been burning, nothing was more important to her in those moments than her drugs.

Bumblebee watched the femme violently squirm and contort in her restraints from his holoform. Lennox had told him that she was beginning to exhibit erratic, unruly behavior. And based on her previous outbursts, he had initially been concerned about a potential escape or attack occurring. Since he didn't want any of the guards to come to harm, he had gladly accompanied them. But right now, he was beginning to regret his decision to stick around.

"What could those humans have done to her?!" Bumblebee shouted, asking no one in particular over the sound of Zero's vicious screaming.

"What you're looking at is a Class-A drug addiction, my friend," said one of the nurses, who also had to raise their voice so they could be heard over the madness. "Who knows what kind of stuff those guys developed in their labs."

Bumblebee flinched when he saw a nurse stick a long needle up the poor femme's arm. NEST's prisoner, Zero, was being sedated. Other nurses encircled her bed, which made the mech feel as though it was high time for him to take his leave. He didn't want to get in the way of the professionals' work.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" the chief medical officer asked, projecting the question towards Bumblebee.

"You've got things covered here, right? I don't think I'll be of much help if she's asleep," Bumblebee replied.

"Wrong. Restraining the beast isn't all you will be doing here today."

Lifting a clipboard, the CMO tapped it twice against the patient's bed. Bumblebee raised a blonde eyebrow, unsure as to what was being implied. The CMO caught his drift and clarified with a simple, "We need you to do an in-depth scan on this girl's vital statistics. We know Cemetery Wind has been feeding her pain-killers, but we need to know what else is going on here. Withdrawals from regular pain-killers don't cause a person to wig out like a rabid coyote on bath salts. It's only been a few days, yet this young lady is completely off the rails. Didn't Lennox debrief you on this?"

Bumblebee shook his head bluntly. "No, he didn't. I was just told to come down and make sure nothing went wrong."

The CMO exhaled disappointedly. "It looks like the Major has it bad like the rest of us. Oh well."

Bumblebee looked at the now crumpled form of Zero. If he hadn't known any better, he would've thought he had been staring at a spiritless corpse. She looked heinous. Her previously milky white flesh now had an almost gray hue to it, and her medical gown was stained with sweat. Her hair was frizzy and matted, and her arms and legs were stiff and splayed outwards.

Bumblebee clenched his fists. At that moment, he felt all sorts of emotions. Anger, because Cemetery Wind was back. Resentment, because their agent had tried to kill him and his associates. Disgust, because the agency had experimented on one of their own. And finally, sadness. It was apparent to him now that Zero had been utilized as some sort of guinea pig, and that her value to her employers rested solely in her ability to act as a functional lab rat.

When the two last conversed, Bumblebee had carefully focused on the way she had spoken to and looked at him. Robotic and abnormal were the only words he could use to describe her. Her voice was bland and flat, and her eyes unveiled a world of nothingness behind them. There was an uncanniness to her motions—an absence that made him uncomfortable. He remembered thinking that she looked like some kind of doll when he had first held her in his servo, and it all made sense to him now.

Bumblebee positioned himself in front of the bed and used his optics to scan the knocked-out girl before him. A nuclear green light cascaded over her torso, and once he reached her hips, he recoiled in bewilderment. "What in the name of Primus!?"

The CMO went to stand directly next to Zero with haste, and it was then that Bumblebee noticed his nametag, which simply read 'Vale.'

"What is it? What's wrong?!" Vale demanded nervously.

"She's not human," Bumblebee said.

"What? That's impossible. We've done a plethora of blood samples on her. There's no way she isn't one of us."

"But—"

"But what? Are you saying she's an alien?"

"It's her legs—they aren't made of flesh. They're made of proto-matter. It's like she's some kind of techno-organic."

Now the CMO was intrigued. "Techno-organic? Autobot, are you telling me that we're looking at a cyborg?"

Bumblebee nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. What's going to happen now?"

The medical staff all glanced at one another, astounded by the reveal. But Vale honed in on the unconscious girl, raking his eyes over her dormant frame, utterly fascinated. He slowly pulled out a scalpel from his lab coat pocket and said, "I see. Well, it looks like you are dismissed. I don't think your presence will be needed here, after all."

 _Uh oh._

Immediately sensing where this was going, Bumblebee positioned himself directly in front of Zero's bed, feeling suddenly protective and concerned for her well-being. "Nope. I'm staying right here," he declared, knowing precisely what would happen if he left. Vale was exerting a dangerous aura, and it reminded him of a Decepticon medic he had once encountered during the war.

"This is for scientific research. I'm afraid you will have to exit," Vale pushed, annoyed by Bumblebee's insubordination.

Bumblebee stood his ground. "Lennox's orders."

"Excuse me?"

"Lennox said I was supposed to make sure everything went all right. I think sticking around to prevent a dissection could count as making sure everything went all right."

"This is a scientific breakthrough which the likes of you couldn't even begin to comprehend! This woman is evolution incarnate! You would dare stand in the way of evolution?"

The otherwise congenial Bumblebee scowled. He hated humans like this man—selfish and jaundiced. He figured Vale would probably throw the entire world under the bus if it meant he could further his research and dreams of grandeur. "I won't let you torture this lady for your own self-gain, _"_ he said in his most intimidating voice.

Vale scoffed. "Bumblebee, was it? Maybe you don't understand because you're already an immortal, but by studying this girl's internal mechanization, the world as we know it would change forever. People who have lost limbs? Fixed. We can simply build them a new one. Even better, anyone who wants a new body can have their brain extracted and put into a robot body. Bam. There goes death. Who do you think you are to determine the fate of the human race?"

Bumblebee felt himself take an involuntary step back. "Hold on there, buddy. Now you're just putting words in my mouth. Never did I say that I wanted to decide the fate of your people. _However,"_ he hissed, his holoform's face slightly flushed from anger, "I will not let you do whatever you want to this girl without her consent or explicit orders from the brass. Right now she is to be treated for whatever addictions she has because of Cemetery Wind. There are plenty of other ways to study her without inflicting physical harm."

Vale turned away begrudgingly, his face also flushed. And after he reluctantly slid his scalpel back into his coat pocket, he harshly spun to face his audience of gobsmacked spectators. "Well then, what are you all standing around for? It's time we started treating our guest," he ordered, shooting a resentful glance towards Bumblebee.

Bumblebee smirked triumphantly, but then frowned when he paid his attention back to Zero. Her whole body was quivering from underneath her gown, which caused him to feel a deep jolt of second-hand remorse for her. Not only had she been some kind of test subject to Cemetery Wind, but now there was a chance she would become a test subject to NEST.

Even worse, Cemetery Wind had achieved something that had only been seen before in Earth fiction. They had created the first mold between man and machine—a techno-organic. And if they had one, there was no doubt in Bumblebee's mind that they had more.


	7. Charge

"Your dissatisfaction with my answers is not a concern of mine," Zero declared blandly, her expression unvaried and mundane.

Braginsky pressed a strong fist against his forehead, mussing his pale gray hair as he grew more cantankerous by the second. "So you are refusing to comment on the claims made against you by Franz Lebowski?"

"I know not of a person who holds any such designation."

"Then how about those legs of yours? Care to comment on that teeny-weeny peculiarity?"

"No."

Braginsky's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. Between the girl being taken in spontaneously by the yellow Autobot and the whole ordeal with her medicine, the stalwart human was done to beat the band. It seemed as though she wasn't frightened by Autobots, people, or anything else in between. None of their interrogative tactics worked on the little psychopath, and, to put it bluntly, he was getting really sick of this shit. Despite the well of information his associate had managed to squeeze out of Lebowski, she refused to corroborate, let alone acknowledge the other inmate or his stratagems.

Braginsky stood up from his seat in defeat. "I think it's time for us to take our leave. Lennox?"

"Yes, sir. I agree. Miss, we will continue this conversation at a later time."

Zero looked past Braginsky and Lennox with a one-thousand-yard stare as they exited her cell. Her sensations were strangely atypical; ever since she had been taken to the NEST treatment center, everything around her felt somewhat amiss. For some reason or another, the world that encompassed her wasn't so blurry or ill-defined anymore. Whenever she had looked around hitherto, the scenery used to have a nebulous drag to it. The sky, the grass, the buildings, and the people used to be so amorphous and vague, whereas now they seemed more crisp and clear-cut.

Zero only served to flummox herself further as she blinked her eyes and stared around with intrigue. "I do not understand this," she professed to nobody.

Pigments that would have previously gone unrecognized to her prior paradigm now popped out to her like flashy Vegas lights. And it wasn't only sights but sounds as well. From outside of her cell, she sometimes heard that same rock and roll music play resonantly from the broken radio transceiver. Before, music only served to annoy her, as all it had ever really seemed to do was give her a headache. But lately, she found herself becoming entranced by the harmonious propagations. The majority of the time, the lyrics to the songs didn't quite register with her, but the emotions that were displayed across them now interested her somewhat, even if she did not understand them at all.

As Zero sat alone in her boring lockup, her partner Jett came to mind. It had almost been a month since she had been captured, and she still hadn't been able to make contact with him. Her escape attempts were always foiled some way or another. Usually, it was by some looming Autobot—particularly the bothersome flaxen one that acted as her gatekeeper.

Zero recognized that specific mechanoid as Bumblebee, the alien who had kidnapped her in the first place. It had taken her a long while before she realized that the aloof blonde-haired man was none other than her keeper as well, which was a current point of shame for her. The distinct scent of Energon radiated off of the holoform as it did with the Autobot, and given their identical styles of black and yellow, she couldn't help but feel a bit stupid for not coming to the conclusion sooner.

Zero yawned subtly and sat up against her cell door, indolent and mentally torpid. Her room was rather small, and there was nothing around for her to occupy herself with—not even a book or television. The cage was unstimulating, banal, and quiet—so quiet that she could hear her blood pulsate throughout her body if she sat still and listened long enough. Sleep was mediocre at best and intolerable at worst. The only relief she ever got was when a pair of guards would show up and take her in for medical treatment. That, and when the NEST superiors approached her for questioning.

Placing a delicate hand on the door, Zero sat and waited.

She just wanted to hear the music.

* * *

"Yo! Watch it, will ya!?"

"Give me a break, Sideswipe! You're hogging the ball!"

"How 'bout you just play better? You'd think someone with the name Strongarm would be able to keep up with the passes."

Strongarm halted her run begrudgingly. "That's it!" she yelled before stomping away.

"Hey, where do you think you're running off to?"

"I'm going to do something more productive with my time. I knew playing scrap-shot with you would be a mistake."

Sideswipe grasped his spark chamber condescendingly, feigning a swoon. "Woe is me. Strongarm, I'm just trying to have a little fun here. You should try it out sometime. Who knows, maybe if we're all lucky, that stick up your aft might loosen up a bit."

Strongarm only sneered before storming out of the Autobot lounge. Luckily, she and Sideswipe were its only two occupants; had anyone else had been present, the fight likely would have escalated since there would've been an audience.

Sideswipe called Strongarm a few choice words in Cybertronian and took a seat on the brassy, lusterless metal couch. There hadn't been any new Cemetery Wind movements or Decepticon attacks since that odd human female had been brought in by Bumblebee, which was making life a tad boring for him. He had initially planned on going out on city patrol, but his position had been stolen last minute by Jolt. He mentally cursed the silent Autobot for embezzling his mission. All he had wanted to do was get out of the NEST base, but the slimy fragger had sniped the spot right out from under his non-existent nose. Abandoned and stranded, he had decided to check around to see who was free, but much to his dismay, Strongarm had been the only 'bot available for him to hang out with. Go figure that whole spiel went up in flames.

Sideswipe picked up the massive metal ball of scrap he and Strongarm had been playing with and skillfully punted it a few times before placing it back in its rightful spot on the ground. He decided to exit the lounge, and as he did so, he racked his processor dry, trying to figure out if there was anything for him to do. Never did he think that he would find himself stuck in Skids and Mudflap's egregious position. He continued to walk onwards and mutter to himself, but when he made a loose turn, he accidentally smacked head-on into someone painfully.

"Youch! Primus, Slick!"

"What in the Allspark?" Sideswipe mumbled as he tried to blink the stars out of his optics.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" scolded a familiar feminine voice.

Sideswipe suddenly bristled with excitement. "Windblade!"

Brushing off his jubilant expression, Windblade tenderly rubbed the backside of her leg. "Listen, I may be on the shorter side, but you really need to look ahead of you while you walk. I mean, give me a break. Have you been inhaling exhaust fumes again?"

Sideswipe sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "S-Sorry," he stuttered anxiously. "I was just, uhh—"

"Screwing around?"

"Was not!"

Windblade crossed her arms and gave Sideswipe a disbelieving look, which made him cringe. Then she shook her exquisitely decorated helm in dry amusement. Even though Sideswipe was painfully obvious and kind of annoying, she found his little crush on her to be rather endearing. "Whatever you say, Slick. I'm going to head down to the main office and have a chat with our beloved Chieftains in the brass. Since coming back from Jasper, Nevada, I've been learning a heck of a lot about a certain tiny someone. An idea concerning her recently sprung to mind, and I think they would be interested in hearing what I have to say. Care to join me?" she asked coyly.

Sideswipe's sheepishness immediately faded at the sound Windblade's gracious invitation. "Absolutely," he replied with confidence. "Can't leave a lady hanging. Am I right, or am I right?"

Windblade tried to force back a snort as she snakily hooked her arm around his. Not only was the poor mech obvious, but his attempts at being smooth were really something else.

* * *

Zero was startled awake when she heard the familiar trudging of her yellow Autobot guard.

She had fallen asleep whilst sitting up against her cell door. She immediately felt that her back was sore, so she stood up and cracked it to remedy its stiffness. She then sprawled back down on the floor and eagerly waited for the symphonic melodies to begin filling her ears. However, when this didn't happen, she felt both disappointed and confused. "Any day now," she muttered.

Bumblebee flung his antennas upwards. The femme had said something, but because he hadn't been paying attention, he wasn't able to decipher just what it had been. _"What was that?"_ he asked. _"I couldn't_ _quite make it out."_

As per usual, Zero didn't bother to respond.

 _"Pigtails, (static) I know you don't like me, (static) or anything else about this situation, but_ — _"_

"Do not refer to me by that obscene designation, Autobot _invader_."

Bumblebee jerked away from the door and shrunk, for the inmate's sudden hiss had struck him like a cruel thunderbolt. But to his surprise, she continued to speak.

"I have no opinion of you other than your kind poses a threat to my own," she said. "And I have no interest in engaging in idle chatter with a lifeform such as yourself."

Ouch. This femme was a difficult one, and Bumblebee didn't quite know how to respond to her injurious words. He felt rather offended by her unpleasant generalization of his kind. Sure, the Decepticons may have posed a threat to her people, but he was an Autobot, and everyone knows that the Autobots are the good guys, right?

 _"I don't understand,"_ he said. _"Autobots (static) protect humans from danger."_

"Perhaps that may be the case in some instances, but not always," she replied.

 _"And what is that supposed to mean?_ _Please explain yourself."_

Zero deliberated for a moment. She had just stated that she had no interest in conversing with the Autobot, and she honestly didn't, so why did she feel so compelled to respond? "You may find my words arguable; however, being aware of one's surroundings is vital."

Now Bumblebee was really lost. Kicking his pedes over one another, he tapped his thumb rhythmically against his thigh. _"Stop speaking in riddles, and (static) just cut to the chase. Who are you really?"_

Zero went quiet for a while since she didn't actually know how to respond to that question. There were multiple answers. She was Cemetery Wind's prototype biorobot for humanity's future evolution. She was a soldier, agent, and database all in one. She was an exemplar, and her only purpose in life was to be an asset to her people and the Director. She relayed this information to Bumblebee, who sat in silence for a couple of seconds afterward.

Bumblebee's Energon started coursing through his tubular veins fast and unpleasantly as he scavenged his neocortex for a response. The way she spoke of herself made him feel highly uncomfortable. He was already well aware that she was off, but the extent to how off she was didn't quite register with him until that moment. Not once in her sentence did she refer to herself in a living, humanistic manner. She emphasized like an android, nearly looked like an android, and genuinely seemed to believe that she was an android. _"...That wasn't what I meant,"_ was all he could come up with.

"What other modus operandi could I have utilized to respond to such an ambiguous query?"

Bumblebee shifted his position again so he could face the door. Sitting Indian-style, he flattened his large digits against the solid ground beneath him. _"Well, what is your_ _real name?"_

"I told you to refer to me as Zero if Zero-X is too redundant a title."

 _"Don't you have_ _any hobbies? Likes? Dislikes?"_

"I am an agent. Take with that as you will."

 _"Stop dodging the question,"_ Bumblebee ordered softly, but firmly.

"Incorrect. You just asked me multiple questions."

At that, Bumblebee couldn't help but run a massive servo down his face. _Is she purposely giving me the runaround, or is she just acting this way because she was trained to?_ he wondered incredulously.

"Is that all you wish to ask of me, Autobot? If so, then I will entertain this conversation no longer. Goodbye."

Tiny footsteps faded away from the door, and as the little mech heard the ruffling of bedsheets, he perked his antennas skyward with haste. _"Wait! Hold on..."_ he said, but then he trailed off. It was hopeless, like trying to break out of a Kaon hoosegow chamber. The girl was too guarded—too reluctant. He knew that she viewed him as an enemy, so naturally, that didn't resolve the situation much.

But he was now more fascinated by the secretive Earth femme than ever before. Previously, it had just been a passing curiosity that was directed at Cemetery Wind's resurrection, but now he was more interested in getting to the bottom of her unnatural behavior. He wanted to understand. How could members of the species he loved so much be capable of reducing a person as young as her to such an automatic, ghostly state? It was beyond disconcerting, and it reminded him of the Decepticons and their mind tricks using the cortical psychic patch.

Standing up, he officially decided on something: he was going to help her.

He didn't know how exactly how he was going to help her, but whether it be through therapy, interrogation, or something else entirely, he was going to try.

He just couldn't look away from this.

* * *

The day passed by as usual, and once daybreak hit, Zero awoke with a rough start, having rolled off of her bed due to a disturbing dream she'd had.

 _...I had a dream?_ she thought as she got herself to her feet. She couldn't remember the last time she had dreamt of anything. Whenever she fell into slumber, hours passed by like nothing, and before she knew it, her eyes were wide open again. Jett would always tell her strange hallucinatory tales of the visuals that graced his dormant brain whenever he slept, but for the most part, she could never understand him. To her, sleep was a time machine.

Zero trudged towards the sink and turned the handle. She then cupped her hands underneath the water stream and began to wash her face vigorously.

 _Jett said dreams were pleasant and bizarre at best, but explicit and disturbing at worst. I must have had a nightmare_.

Once she finished with her face, she went about styling her hair. As she pulled her locks to the top of her head and prepared her scrunchies, she felt plagued. Her nightmare had taken place in a city. Buildings were crumpled, mutilated corpses littered the streets, and acid sizzled within every crack and crevice in the broken asphalt roads. She recalled that a familiar face had been torturing her (one she recognized to be that of Blastos) and that she had screamed in a manner that was extremely foreign to her.

In the end, what irked Zero about the dream was neither the scenery, the invader, nor the corpses. What irked her was the panic—the utter trepidation. Looking into the mirror in front of her, she closed her eyes and then opened them back up again slowly.

Suddenly, there was a sharp knocking at her door, and she knew that the guards were there to escort her to the medical bay. When they entered, she was promptly restrained and cuffed. And after all of that was said and done with, she silently went with them down the foreboding NEST corridors, unaware as to what was waiting for her at the very end.

* * *

Several soldiers stopped and stared at Zero as she was paraded through the base. Most of them had heard of the jailbird but hadn't seen her, so they were curious. She noticed their looks and glances, of course, but didn't think much of them. She was an enemy in the eyes of those people—a physical excursus.

She experienced a jolt of ease when she caught the sight of the human wing of the medical center. But she quickly felt it quell when her two guards kept pushing her on, eventually leading her to another, much larger medical space. Not asking any questions, she complied as they set her down on a wide examination table and positioned themselves stoutly at her left and right sides.

Major General Lennox and Lieutenant General Braginsky briskly entered the room and walked towards the triptych. With a non-caring jerk of his thumb, Braginsky signaled to the guards that they were to leave on the spot. And as Zero was left by her lonesome with the two NEST superiors, she just looked at them expectantly. Her routine had been altered today, apparently.

Surprisingly, she was the first one to break the ice for once. "What have you done to me?"

Braginsky nudged Lennox in the ribs with his elbow. "Oh, this is new~" he said with his token grin plastered widely across his face.

"What are you putting in my body?"

Lennox opened his mouth to speak but was cut-off by his truculent boss. "Now she decides to talk. How amusing. Enlighten me, dear, are you having any adverse effects?"

"Yes, I am. Nothing is registering properly. My eyes are being affected somehow. Colors are coruscating, and my mind has been—"

Braginsky chortled. "So what? Seeing the world normally for the first time? I hate to break it to you, hon, but that's what happens when you shoot up worse than a backstreet heroin addict."

"I do not follow," Zero said sincerely. "Please, explain yourself immediately."

Lennox wrung his hands together. "Miss Zero-X..."

Braginsky groaned. God, he hated that asinine pseudonym. It was annoying and ridiculous.

"...I think you will find that the long-term effects will be less bothersome. This is for your own good, after all."

Zero shifted her gaze between both of the men with a visible puck of cynicism. "And why would _you_ care about such an irrelevant thing?"

"He doesn't," Braginsky asserted. "We can't have you telling us lies as a result of your lack of proper awareness. And nobody needs you freaking out from withdrawals again. Be thankful we're detoxing you for free, you little shit."

Zero felt herself grow hot with anger as she said, "My name isn't 'little shit,' you worthless irritant. I will not thank you for toying with my biochemistry, so explain why I am here. Surely you could have prattled down to me in the human wing and not the Autobot wing."

That comment made the already rigid cords in Braginsky's neck tighten. Removing a walkie-talkie from his leather waistband, he mumbled a few words into the primitive machine before clasping it back into place and vacating the premises, leaving his hired hand and the prisoner alone together.

"Miss," Lennox said, "is there a specific reason as to why you continue to allude our questioning?"

"No comment."

"I see. Then that leaves us with our last option."

Seemingly on queue, the signature tremble of Autobot footsteps crept towards the room. Zero watched in unimpressed riposte as the yellow Autobot filed in with a couple of others. In total, there was him, a spiky-headed red one, a chunky blue femme, a sleek red femme who resembled a geisha, another Japanese themed one who looked more like a shogun, and a well-built, male African American human.

"I fear no retribution," she stated.

"No, little miss, that is not what this is about," Drift replied coolly.

"..."

Windblade chuckled as she looked over to Bumblebee, who appeared to be more than a little febrile. Sideswipe beamed like a child since Windblade was so close to him. Pulling a thin collar out from his pocket, Epps walked up to Zero and clasped it around her neck. Expecting him to slit her throat instead, she jerked her head back and bashed it straight into his forehead.

"Oww! Awww! Come on, man!" Epps all but squeaked.

Zero started to squirm like a worm as she vainly attempted to wriggle free from her restraints. Epps, on the other hand, resentfully motioned towards Lennox whilst massaging the now tender spot on his forehead. "See? I knew that crazy-ass girl would do something!" he hollered, feeling betrayed. "You guys owe me big—you bunch of liars!"

Lennox just slumped his shoulders lackadaisically. "She's been pretty good lately. Sorry, man."

"'She's been pretty good lately,'" Epps mocked. "Sure. And Jerry Lee Luis is the devil. Heck, you might as well say that Jesus built my hotrod."

"You dare make such jokes in my presence?" Zero fumed, harshly interrupting the men's banter.

Now it was Windblade's turn to take a bow. She had recently taken an interest in the Cemetery Wind case, and now that she was back from retrieving weapons from her global cache supply, she intended to join back up with Bumblebee and his team for further research.

"Listen to me, human... Cyborg... Techno-organic? Ugh, whatever it is that you are. After hearing all about the trouble you were giving our friends upstairs, I had a thought. Since you don't talk, that doesn't make you very useful. But the thing is..." She knelt down so that she could look at Zero more closely. Both lifeforms eyeballed one another, each taking the other's characteristics with both extreme efficiency and prejudice. But when Windblade's gaze softened, Zero's remained steely and unfriendly. "...Autobots don't hurt humans," she said plain-sailingly. "The brass was talking about getting rid of you and sending you off to High General Morshower's in Diego Garcia. But luckily, with some of us chipping in, we were able to come to a mutual agreement. Not all of us concur it, but it is a necessary precaution, so you'll have to wear that stun collar from now on. My idea, by the way. We can't have you assaulting someone and making a break for it."

Zero's eyes widened. Stun collar? At least it wasn't some kind of bomb or poison control device.

Bumblebee took an emphatic step forward. It was his turn to speak now. _"Cemetery Wind (static) agent, you're coming with me."_

Zero cocked an eyebrow and bared her teeth. "And what might that entail, alien?"

 _"As of this day forward, (static) you are my charge."_


	8. Shame and Failure

Of all the things that could have gone wrong—what with her potentially being tortured, dismantled, studied, or slaughtered—this outcome was by far the last thing Zero had expected.

Making her into an Autobot's pet wasn't what she had anticipated NEST to do with her at all, and she was utterly shell-shocked upon hearing the broken words exit the metallic beast's damaged vocal modulator. "...Charge?" she said, hoping that she was mishearing things.

"That is correct, ma'am. Until you can give us what we want, you will be placed under the jurisdiction of my good friend Bumblebee," Lennox replied.

Zero stared down at her shackled ankles in bewilderment. She felt like a disgrace. Squinching her eyes in controlled annoyance, she then looked past the Autobots as the Lieutenant General pestilentially sashayed his way back through the open door of the expanse with an odd contraption in his hand. "This is nonsense," she finally said after a moment. "What makes you think I won't just find a way to escape once his back is turned?"

The corner of Braginsky's mouth quirked down, but nobody except for Zero saw it happen since she was the only one who had noticed his re-emergence. "You won't escape because of _this_ ," he said, full of vim and vigor.

Lennox, Epps, and the rest of the 'Bee-team swiveled around in surprise. A serpentinian smile graced Braginsky's rugged face, and before anyone could react, he gleefully smashed his thumb against the contraption's power switch. It was a remote control.

Bumblebee watched in horror as Zero made an ear-piercing, high-pitched, frenzied wail and her tired eyes rolled into the back of her head. Lennox and Epps shielded their ears in premature celerity as raging tendrils of electricity tunneled their way throughout her body like a parasitic bolt of lightning. The tempestuous current caused her spiky hair to puff out angrily with static, and although the gruesome shock happened for just a few long seconds, the damage had already been done. Before she flopped onto the hard concrete floor with a vicious thwack, she twitched uncontrollably as she coughed and foamed at the mouth. In the final moments before she blacked out, the only thing she could perceive was the torturous, white-hot pain.

Windblade covered her lower faceplates in perturbation. The brass had double-crossed her. The collar's electrical output was supposed to be painful, yes, but harmless all the same.

Lennox and Epps scurried into action by lifting Zero off the ground and steadying her on the large, sterile berth. Bumblebee nervously knelt beside her and whirred relentlessly in both fear and concern as froth poured balefully from her dry lips. Sideswipe had no words, and neither did Drift. Both sat paralyzed, still processing the gravity of the situation that had just transpired before them. Strongarm, however, was fuming. "You!" she shouted at Braginsky. "This is cruel and unusual punishment. Your actions directly violate the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights!"

"Wind your neck in," Braginsky ordered with a bored look on his face. "Whether any of you like it or not, that techno-organic is being held here for attempted mass murder." He then turned to Windblade and gave her a nasty glare. "And did _you_ sincerely believe that we were just gonna give the little terrorist a light tase whenever she acted out? For a super-advanced alien lifeform, you are astoundingly callow. She's not one we're just going to let get away, especially with those lovely little enhancements of hers. Hopefully, this demonstration will prevent any future escapes from transpiring. After a couple of shocks from that dog collar, to put it simply, she'll be a tad screwed. Little miss tight lips won't have any choice but to behave."

Strongarm's optics flickered with wrath. "Are you completely out of your mind!?"

Braginsky flippantly tucked the device into his uniform pocket and left- this time, permanently. Strongarm clenched her jaw, whereas Windblade just looked disheartened and lost. Go figure the brass would've pulled something like this. She couldn't believe her stupidity in thinking that there wouldn't be a catch to the humans hearing out her thoughts. _"_ Scrap... _"_ she said under her breath.

Sideswipe placed a caring servo on the somber femme's shoulder, hoping to be of some comfort. Sadly for him, though, Windblade didn't bother acknowledging his efforts. Instead, she just walked away lugubriously. She had a lot to think about now.

In the background, Bumblebee, Drift, Lennox, and Epps began tending to Zero with intense vigor.

Fortunately for them, her sporadic twitching had finally ceased.

* * *

The late morning subsequently faded into the afternoon, and the afternoon subsequently faded into nightfall.

Bumblebee was wracked with a massive sense of overwrought neuroticism. He sat rigidly on the hardwood floor of his quarters, and in his arms, he carefully cradled the quiescent form of Cemetery Wind's techno-organic agent, Zero-X. Lennox and Epps had personally transported her to the human medical wing for proper assistance following her shock, and after she was thoroughly examined and evaluated, the questionable CMO—Dr. Vale—indignantly discharged her.

Given the nature of her injuries, Bumblebee had protested against this course of action, but the surrounding medical staff had insisted that it wouldn't have been a necessary precaution to keep her overnight. The shock did trigger a painful response from her nociceptors, but once the current passed through her feet and into the floor, she only had slight burns lined around her neck. According to Vale, her anatomical fortitude was well above that of an average person, so with just a little ointment and a slap on the wrist, she was let go without a single concern.

Zero had been unconscious ever since the assault had occurred, which was beginning to make Bumblebee worry. He wrestled back and forth with himself, contemplating as to whether or not he should take his new charge back to the treatment center, but couldn't settle upon a substantial verdict.

Bumblebee looked to the miniature femme in his embrace and felt a merciless surge of guilt race through his spark. It was he who had taken her in, and he couldn't help but resent himself for doing so. After all, had he not grabbed her that day and transported her with him through the ground bridge, she wouldn't be hurt right now.

Of course, he knew that it wasn't truly his fault for what had happened—it was Braginsky's. Had he not grabbed Zero that day, she very well might have seriously hurt or killed someone. But even though he hadn't necessarily been the one to pull the proverbial trigger, he couldn't help but feel wholly responsible for what had gone wrong. It was his first day with his new responsibility, and he had allowed her to come to harm. When he'd watched her fall to the floor, he experienced a feeling he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Bumblebee felt like a failure, just like he had been when Sam Witwicky was murdered. Useless and incompetent—only good for scouting and reconnaissance, but never good when it really mattered.

Moving Zero's feathery figure in his arms, he carefully sat up and made his way over to his berth. Lying down delicately, he held her close to his spark chamber, and rue permeated the entirety of his being.

* * *

Another hour passed as Zero continued to breathe subdued breaths into the cool metal of Bumblebee's chest.

It was two o'clock the morning, and all was silent throughout the base. Soldiers and other military personnel had gone to sleep, and the Autobots had retreated to their quarters for recharge.

As Bumblebee finished rubbing soothing circles into the small of Zero's back, she quietly woke up and opened her eyes. Her entire upper-torso rung with soreness and she felt a terrible line around her neck sting as her new neckpiece angrily rubbed against it. Not moving an inch, she snapped her eyes back shut, pretending as though she was still asleep when she realized that her Autobot keeper held her in his grasp.

Without any warning whatsoever, Bumblebee started playing a soft melody from his retro-fitted radio transceiver. The sound graced Zero's naked ears and immediately imbued her with an inkling of frosty, soul-stirring sadness, causing her to feel strangely melancholic as she laid noiselessly on his urbane, debonair chest-plating.

She listened on in complacent silence, and as she did so, she caught the sound of something pulsating beneath her. There was a toilsome yet silken hum on the other side of the metal barrier, and it took her a jiffy to accurately identify just what it was. _That's right; these beings harness their life force within their chest cavities,_ she thought, remembering one of the classes she had been required to take on Cybertronians.

But then, Zero was hit with a sensation that nearly made her gasp out loud. Bumblebee had absentmindedly started rubbing her back again. At first, her instincts told her to swat at the servo making contact with her flesh, but for reasons she couldn't quite place, she continued to remain completely still. The gentle touch of his massive digits was nothing like she had ever felt before. Instead of feeling thuggish and discourteous, it was deliberately careful and kind. She exhaled softly, confused, and unsure as to what she was supposed to do. None of her instructors had taught her what to do in case she was presented with such a bizarre situation. And without any ideas coming to mind, she knew that she was completely on her own.

With each passing rub, fresh goosebumps graced Zero's skin, and pleasant chills traveled down her spine. The instrumental sounds and the whimsical vocals continued to flow throughout the air harmoniously, but once the song ended, she felt the need to announce her wakefulness. As heavenly and peculiar as the alien's touch may have been, a knot grew in her stomach when it dawned on her that she was voluntarily allowing the action to continue forth. Bumblebee, her robot kidnapper, was a threat. How dare he make physical contact with her, especially after his superiors had administered that wretched shock to her systems?

Bumblebee released a startled whirr when Zero suddenly rocketed upwards into a sitting position.

After rubbing her eyes groggily with both of her hands, she looked up to see him staring down at her excitedly, his brilliant lazuline optics cascading a dazzling hue throughout the dark space around them. _"You're awake!"_ he cheered in the voice of a child. _"Are you_ _okay? Do you need_ _anything? How_ _many fingers am I holding up?_ _"_

Zero didn't say anything; rather, she let her mouth hang slightly open, as she was lost for words. He had shot so many questions at her so quickly that she didn't know which one to respond to first.

Bumblebee didn't take Zero's silence well at all. Braginsky's collar had zapped her right in the throat, and in a split second of panic, he began to worry that the shock may have fried her voicebox. _"No! Not your voice!"_ he cried out. _"You can't be like me!"_

His yelp of concern broke Zero from her quiet trance and prompted her to shake her head back and forth. "No, Autobot. I am functional," she said. "So, please...calm yourself." She wasn't sure why she added that last part, but given his erratic behavior, she felt it was necessary.

Bumblebee visibly relaxed at the sound of Zero's mellifluous voice and let out a staticky exhale. For a moment there, he had thought for sure that she had been impaired somehow. But after she answered his query, a strained silence fell between the two. It wasn't necessarily awkward, but it wasn't pleasant either.

Zero began to steady her position on his chest. She stood up still and pragmatically, and he just peered at her as she gave him a dead, yet inquisitive stare that lied somewhere within the spectrum of incertitude and utter fascination. "Just what was it that you were doing just a minute prior?" she eventually asked him.

 _"What do you_ _mean?"_

"Why was I wrapped in your arms? My back—you were...petting me?"

Bumblebee glanced away as Zero bore her gaze into his own. _Man, this girl has a seriously massive staring problem,_ he thought.

"I am not your pet, Autobot," she said stolidly. "I am nobody's responsibility other than my own. If you know what is good for yourself, then you will release me from your custody at once."

Bumblebee frowned. _"Since when did anyone say that you were (static) my pet?"_

"You did before I was electrocuted to oblivion by that motherland troglodyte."

 _"The Lieutenant,"_ Bumblebee sneered, startling the woman on his chest, causing her legs to buckle from the sudden vibrations that quivered down his body.

Bumblebee realized his mistake and said, _"S-Sorry. I just can't believe (static) he did that to you."_

An assuming look crossed Zero's face. "I find that unlikely. You cannot trick me, other-worlder."

 _"I'm not trying to. I swear upon (static) my spark."_

"And why should that mean anything to me? You are just as capable of deceit as any other sentient lifeform on this planet."

Bumblebee raised his doorwings defensively. _"No, you're wrong. You're my (static) charge now. I can't allow (static) you to get hurt."_

Upon hearing those words, Zero scowled as if she'd been insulted. "I already told you, I am not your pet!"

Bumblebee let out a timid wince.

Zero just squeezed her fists into balls and simmered with ire. This wasn't the first time she had experienced anger—not by a long shot. Anger and dissatisfaction were emotions that she was well acquainted with. But never before had she allowed herself to get carried away with them. To be a prisoner was one thing, but to be hounded over and talked down to by her enemy was something else entirely. It was abhorrent. No self-respecting Cemetery Wind operative would've allowed this, yet she had.

It was shameful.

Shame was another feeling she understood quite well. Out of all the few things she felt, shame must have been the worst emotion of them all. She continued to squeeze her fists, which caused her knuckles to go white with stress. It had been far too long since she had gone missing. What did the Director think of her? No doubt the others had taken her place by now.

She was a failure.

Bumblebee could tell that Zero was in the midst of falling into mental disarray. As he stared at her silently, he could see all sorts of emotions—emotions that he hadn't thought she was capable of feeling before. _The detox must have her all out of whack,_ he figured semi-optimistically. He knew she must have been going through a lot of pain. He could always hear her shuffling and whimpering from the inside of her cell, likely wishing for relief. Seeing her in such a state made him feel profoundly sad, and before he knew it, he had begun caressing her back once again.

Like before, Zero didn't request that he halt his unorthodox actions. She couldn't. Soothing tingles traveled down her organic arms and metallic legs as his fingers nuzzled her body with the softness of velvet. She knew that she could stop him. She knew that she would've under normal circumstances, but his sweet-temperedness was throwing her for a loop. She ultimately chalked her inability to respond correctly as a side-effect from the chemical imbalance that plagued her brain. Saying nothing, she lied back down and rolled over so that he couldn't see her face.

 _Normalcy will return to me in due time,_ she thought as weariness crept up on her like a lion would a gazelle. _Once Jett finds me, this will have all been nothing but a dream..._

* * *

The pair stayed like that for a long time.

Bumblebee remained in a vertical position on his berth while Zero rested soundly on his chest-plates, warmly snug under his left servo. He knew this would take a lot of getting used to, both for himself and her. She had clearly been sheltered and indoctrinated from a young age, and he was well aware that just being kind to her wouldn't make her turn over a new leaf. _"Actions speak louder than words,"_ he mumbled softly. He knew that she had a lot of things to work through, both internally and externally. She was still being treated for her addictions, and she was now being scanned and studied by NEST officials on a weekly basis.

Five rolled around, then six, then twelve. It was Sunday, and for once, Bumblebee had the day off. He'd been granted this treat by Lennox since he would have to aid in accommodating Zero to the NEST base. She would be moving into his room, but even though that was the case, she was still very much under arrest. Although her new status as his charge and a test subject meant that she was going to be given more leverage and freedom, it wasn't going to be by very much. Whenever he was off-duty, he was to watch her like a hawk. She had already established that she was a rather capable escape artist; therefore, she was to be kept far, far away from any vital areas on the base. Whenever he was gone or preoccupied with a mission of greater relevance, she was to be restrained and locked in his room until he returned.

Bumblebee's large blue optics flickered online as he awoke from recharge. Sitting up hazily, he rubbed his helm and shuttered his air vents loosely. He tilted his head downwards, and when he saw that Zero was gone, his Energon turned to ice. _"Oh, god no!"_ he yelped in fear. Jumping up from his berth, he frantically began searching every nook and cranny in his room for any signs of the girl. _"It's my second day on the job, and this happens! What would (static) Optimus_ _(static)_ _think of me!?"_

"What would your morally questionable leader think of you?" a dull voice replied.

Bumblebee halted in his tracks. Zero observed him curiously. He was crouched awkwardly on his knees, and in his servos, he sloppily held a gargantuan pile of super-hero comic books and edgy alternative band posters, looking very ruffled and disoriented.

 _"Where were you!?"_

"In the restroom. I was taking a shower."

 _"...A shower?"_

"A shower."

 _"Here? In this room?"_

"Yes. Right over there," Zero affirmed. She pointed behind her, directing Bumblebee's attention towards a door that was slightly hidden around a bend.

 _"Oh."_

Bumblebee had forgotten that his quarters used to belong to humans. Because he never had any use for the restroom, he had wiped its existence from his memory banks. Mentally slapping himself for jumping to conclusions, he visibly relaxed and trudged over to the dripping techno-organic. A fluffy black towel rested comfortably around her shoulders, and tiny droplets of clean bathwater dropped onto her citrus prison uniform dolefully. Her bothered expression from several hours prior was long gone, and she had since replaced it with her standard phlegmatic countenance.

Zero stood stoically and impassively, not moving an inch. "Autobot..." she said in a warning tone as Bumblebee offered his servo to her.

 _"I think it would (static) be best if we got you (static) some breakfast."_

Zero fidgeted at the sight of his servo. She was sick of being held by giant robots. "I'll walk."

Bumblebee raised his antennas at her statement. After this morning's debacle, there was no way he was going to risk her escaping his sight. Not a chance. _"It will be safer if you ride with me. There are other (static) Autobots around."_

"Ridiculous."

 _"Please?"_

"No."

 _"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"_

"You annoy me to a horrendous degree, Autobot."

 _"Geez. At least you're honest."_

Zero tried not to thresh as she took a seat in Bumblebee's outstretched palm. Because he was one of the smaller mechs around and stood at an unimpressive fourteen feet in height, his hand wrapped around her petite body rather intimately. Giving him an uncomfortable fidget, she forced herself to stare ahead as they left his room and passed by leagues of hungry soldiers who were making off towards the dining hall. As always, several of the men stared at her with intrigue. She felt a fiery warmth grace her cheeks, and she placed a hand over her face to hide it.

Of course, this motion didn't go unnoticed by Bumblebee, who couldn't help but chuckle in amusement. _"Aw, she's embarrassed,"_ he said, though it was more to himself than her.

"Excuse me?" Zero challenged as she spun around to face him.

 _"Your face. People do that when they're_ — _"_

"Silence. It is just that I am not used to being gawked at," she said, much to her own chagrin.

 _"It's fine if you're shy. They won't bother you."_

"You're wrong. I care not for the frugal thoughts of NEST soldiers or alien invaders. I refuse to continue this."

 _"Okay, okay._ _I'll stop."_

Bumblebee continued towards the dining hall, and once he got there, he noticed that Zero had shrunk in his palm. She was embarrassed, but not for the reasons he had in mind.

She didn't want to be seen being held by her enemy keeper. To her, it was as though he was displaying her like a victory trophy.


	9. The X and the Alien

_**NEST-HQ: Four Months Later...**_

* * *

"Augh! Are you serious right now?"

"I said no."

"What a load of bull."

"Lex Talionis. The law of retaliation dictates that punishment which resembles the offense be enacted in kind and degree."

"You literally just slapped me square across the face!"

"Correct."

"But you've already pulverized eight whole chicken fingers! Can't a guy get somethin' to eat around here?"

"No means no, miscreant."

"Yo, 'Bee," Epps whined. "Are you seein' this shit?"

Bumblebee just whirred and shrugged his shoulders lightheartedly. No way was he gonna get involved; this was golden.

Epps moved back in his seat and unfettered a snort. "Your little girlfriend is a real bitch on wheels, 'Bee. Whatever happened to keeping one's hands to themselves?"

"Jett lets me eat whatever I want, and your hunger fails to affect me personally," Zero countered without reserve.

"Who the hell is Jett? I just want some friggin' chicken fingers, girl. You're hogging 'em all!"

"Nudnik."

"Huh?"

"A pestering, nagging, or irritating person," Zero clarified stodgily. "In short, a nuisance—which you very much are being right now."

"You know what? That's it." Bracing his calloused fingers against the marble table, Epps shot up turgidly. Bumblebee repressed a clownish smirk as his human pal stomped off bitterly towards the lunchline, all while Zero merrily ravaged the last bit of fried animal flesh before her.

Primus, she could eat! No wonder why Epps had wanted to snag a piece while he could. For such a pint-sized femme, her mouth sucked in meals like an all-consuming black hole. At this rate, Kirby and the Pit would have some serious competition to face against.

As she wiped her mouth off with a clean napkin with one hand, Zero reached her other hand out to grab the lonely salad dish that Epps had left behind. Even though she had just consumed an entire meal, she still wanted more.

 _"Hey, I wouldn't do that if I were you,"_ said Bumblebee. _"He looked pretty mad."_

He noticed that the hunger in her eyes was voracious to the point of being almost cartoonish. Geez, she was protective over her own food like a starving dog, yet she seemed to have no qualms when it came to stealing other people's meals. Talk about double standards.

"Do what?" Zero responded brazenly. "The soldier's immediate concern lies within his ability to acquire more chicken fingers. Ergo, while he waits in line, I shall consume his gratuitous leftovers."

Bumblebee snickered at the femme's unknowing expression. Did she sincerely not realize how nonsensical and piggish her actions were? Crossing his metallic arms in a pompous manner, he gave her a smug grin and said, _"Seems to me like you're just being a (static) flaming hypocrite."_

Zero proceeded to scrunch her nose in distaste, evidently beset by Bumblebee's farcical suggestion. It was an action she had learned from Jett, and right now, it seemed more than appropriate to exercise. Her, a person who indulges in hypocrisy? Ludicrous. How dare he verbally restrain her from the salad. Out of everything she tolerated him getting away with, she determined that this wasn't something she was going to let fly. No way, no how.

"Alien, for one who does not feed or properly communicate, you certainly have a sizable mouth," she said with a little less dispassion than usual.

A couple of soldiers who were sitting around the pair unleashed several entertained "Oohs" at the sound of Zero's barefaced insult. Though her words of impudence were elegantly spoken and came across without much venom, they still arrived as a surprise, nonetheless.

Bumblebee clenched his denta as he tried to hold back a fully-fledged, staticky laugh. He knew that his little charge was eccentric and of questionable mental forbearance, but the fact that she was getting so defensive over food took him aback. Out of all the things he had expected her to argue with him over, Epps' abandoned salad dish was the last thing he'd envisioned. _"You know, I could almost say (static) the same thing to you. You barely talk, yet you can (static) hork down a whole meal (static) in the span of a few minutes,"_ he said.

"I am not economically improvident, preternatural interloper. Frankly, I find your general inordination to be rather objectionable _and_ incomprehensive," she replied.

 _"Uhh, English, please?"_

Having little interest in answering Bumblebee's inquiry, Zero merely slid Epps' salad closer to her and began energetically shoveling the raw vegetables into her open mouth. Men who were walking by that had diverted their attention started staring and grinning in jocularity. The same few soldiers who had released the "Oohs" couldn't resist whooping and cheering out loud, humorously encouraging the cutesy woman to stick it to the giant robot.

All of this went on while Epps, who was still going about his merry way in the lunchline, was none the wiser to his stolen goods.

Bumblebee just shook his helm and tittered in awe.

Did he mention that his new charge was a little weird?

* * *

"Target acquired. Three-X?"

"We shall remain stationary until the Autobot in question nears the periphery of its vessel. Two-X and yourself will impel the extraterrestrial overboard. The stock reserves will be despoiled and transported out by me. I shall work with expeditious haste."

"Affirmative," Two-X and One-X replied platitudinously. The X-triumvirate stood stiffly in a quintessential triangular position. They were stationed in a manner that left them just out of the hulking mechanoid's optical reach.

It was a particularly sunny day in the sleepy town of Griffin Rock. Sirius clouds painted the pale blue sky with gentle wisps while seagulls peppered the surrounding beaches in bulk, likely with the intention of scavenging the littoral for a hearty meal. The balmy scent of sea salt carried across the entire island, and One-X couldn't help but wish she had stayed behind. The welcoming ambiance that circumscribed her felt fallacious and deceitful, especially with that cancerous alien quartet being just a few blocks away.

Three-X, like One-X, also failed to hold the island municipality with very high regard. To him, it seemed as though the township had a way of beaconing alien intruders. The agent, forbearing and resigned as he was, felt the need to look over his shoulder just in case the so-called 'Rescue Bots' were at risk of coming about. Griffin Rock was rather infamous for being one of Earth's first modern Transformer hotspots. Though the space robots were supposedly under the firm constraints of Mayor Luskey and the Burns family, Three-X had personally scouted the region several times in the past for the sole purpose of determining whether or not this was true.

Of course, it wasn't.

The police chief, Charlie Burns, seemed to have no second thoughts in allowing the invaders free reign over the island. The people—mainly the youthful ones like himself—often hung off of the aliens' pedes like playground toys. Looking up to the sky, Three-X squinted as the bright sun glared harshly across his corneas. Shielding his face with a gloved hand, he promptly looked around for any signs of the emergency excavation helicopter—Blades.

Heatwave, Boulder, and Chase weren't much of a concern since their vehicular modes were terrestrial, but the helicopter often did routine checks across the whole island. The only way the threesome could have been spotted was from the air, and if it saw them, no doubt it would drop down to investigate their actions. To say they looked suspicious from their current position would have been a massive understatement.

Closing his dull gray eyes slowly and deliberately, Three-X exhaled in acquiescence.

There was nothing.

"Three-X."

Tilting his head to look at his equally monotone compatriot, the boy responded with a simple, "Speak."

It was Two-X.

Two-X was also male, whereas Zero-X and One-X were female. Out of the four techno-organics, Two-X was the second strongest, One-X was the third strongest, and their eldest, the prototype Zero-X, was the weakest. Though they all were in possession of incredible resilience and endurance, Zero-X's overall body mass was still 50% organic. One-X's was 42%, Two-X's was 35%, and lastly, Three-X's was 29%. Because Three-X was the most mechanized of the four, he was deemed to be the most capable of leading his semi-robotic workmates. Age was irrelevant. Although he may have been the youngest of his kind, he was by far the most physically proficient of them all.

Zero-X, being the least secure of the band, had been shipped off to New York to exterminate loose aliens. For a time, albeit a short one, she had accompanied them all on scouting and reconnaissance missions to retrieve stolen data and goods. However, because of her biological quirks, the Director had granted her the privilege of hunting rogue Decepticons by her lonesome. For whatever reason, she failed to perform as well when partnered up with the rest of her kin. Unlike Three-X, she wasn't renowned for being a team player.

Three-X was a prodigy. He had been manufactured using Cemetery Wind's highest quality of transformium, or proto-matter, as the Cybertronians preferred to call it. Issues that Zero-X, One-X, and Two-X exhibited didn't affect Three-X even remotely. The triad's existence was a means to an end—they were mere stepping stones to achieve his perfection.

"The Autobot's position is optimal," Two-X said. "It is reeling in a fishing line. Shall we engage?"

Three-X closed one eye, considering his options. Then, he curtly pointed to the ginormous, eldritch mech and said, "Deploy."

On that command, the three agents manumitted their boosters and took off in a coruscating flash.

A blast of fervid, transparent heat distorted the oxygen around their packs' inlet ducts, and the viridescent grass from which they stood rustled in an act of reprisal.

* * *

"Ah, slaggin' fraggin'—"

 _"Yo, what's the problem?"_

"Gahh! It's this bloody Earth net! It's tangled and filled with all sorts of trash. Do these humans have any sense of decency?"

 _"Hey, don't be like that. They're still figuring things out, you know. Heck, their entire species is about as old as the average youngling."_

"Think I care? I still don't know why Prime even bothered with this planet. It's just another waste of effort like the rest of 'em."

 _"Yikes, that's harsh. Still bitter, huh?"_

"Ragh! Well, Quickshadow, maybe I wouldn't be so bitter if this damn net wasn't so snarled up!"

 _"Relax, High Tide. If you're having such a hard time, then how about I stroll through the ground bridge and lend you a hand? It's not like I have anything better to do."_

"What about Blurr? Doesn't someone need to keep an optic on him at all times?"

 _"Do you think I'm some kind of youngling-sitter? That's Salvage's job."_

High Tide laughed at her remark. "Alright, alright. But don't expect this to be a clean job, femme. Just remember that you volunteered."

 _"Well, it can't be much worse than staring at blank monitors all day. Oh, and before you say anything, don't even get me started on television. I swear, if I have to look at another Coca-Cola commercial, I'm going to flip my lid. After a good car wash and a lukewarm cube of high-grade motor oil, I don't think I'll have much to complain about."_

"Now that's the spirit! What I would've done to find a femme like you back in the day."

Quickshadow's optics gleamed with mirth. Old mechs. What can you do? _"I'll be there in a few nanokliks, High Tide,"_ she said, ending their chat. _"Quickshadow out."_

The previously churlish Autobot clicked the side of his helm jovially, ending the call with his feminoid subordinate almost as quickly as it had come. Hoo boy, he sure looked forward to getting this job done now. It had been way too long since he had gotten a bit fragged, what with the humans being so stingy about their oil reserves. Considering all of the scum and plastic grocery bags that needed to be manually picked out of the net, having a nice glass of high-grade afterward with a pretty femme sounded nothing short of heavenly to him.

High Tide crouched down and began the arduous task of untangling and picking all the garbage from the net. While grumbling about human wastefulness and humming Cybertronian sea shanties to himself, he didn't even notice the trio of cyborgs that had boarded his ship from behind. Looking to Three-X, One-X and Two-X nodded before sliding down the edge of the railing. Their mission was simple: shove the Autobot overboard, grab the cache pod he was ferrying, and leave before he could make his way back up.

One-X brushed a stray piece of pale blonde hair from her cheek as she scampered across the lengthy deck. Smoothly tucking it behind her ear, she silently glanced at her younger male subordinate. Two-X returned her stony gaze with equal intensity. And with that, they both began their ominous march towards High Tide, all while he continued to transition between humming crude songs to spewing derogatory complaints sloppily.

As Three-X rounded the corner of the upper deck, he surveyed his surroundings both quickly and impetuously. Cameras were his biggest concern, but seeing none, he rocketed himself up to the entryway keypad. He pulled a singular black hard drive from his uniform pocket and then stuck it into the device's open slit with extreme haste. The virtual colors of the on-screen keypad became distorted and blurry, and after a second, the sliding Cybertronian door slithered open with a reticent hush.

The way the interior of the ship appeared was outré and very individualistic, as the walls were decorated with queer Cybertonian hieroglyphics and pictures of disturbing alien sea-monsters. Portholes creaked and fluttered with the vertiginous movements of the ship, and Three-X sped across the rutted floor with caution and vigilance. According to the Director's satellite scan of the vessel, the secluded weapons cache was located just around a few more twists.

Three-X halted once he reached the door to the alien's repository. Slipping his flight pack over his shoulders, he fished out a circular object from its back compartment. And as he flicked the object's switch, he couldn't help but grin in anticipation when it started radiating a cacophony of amaranthine hues. He had seen enough movies and TV shows to understand the feeling of satisfaction, and right now, the sensation was overwhelming.

Three-X entered the space with an almost arrogant pep in his step. Going past leagues of antediluvian artifacts and glowing Energon cubes, he stopped in front of his massive quarry and waited expectantly.

"Patience," he said, his arid voice echoing across the broad and spacious room. "Equanimity translates to opulent splendor."

* * *

"Humans and their argh... Where the heck is Quickshadow? This is some Pacific Trash Vortex bullslag... Blech, gimme a break... Primus be... GAHHH!"

 _ **SPLASH!**_

"Two-X, Three-X has indicated to me that the cache supply is secured," said One-X, not caring about High Tide, who thrashing to stay afloat. The duo had just administered an uninhibited, rocket-fueled kick to the back of both his knees. The unabating force of the blow had knocked him from his pedes and had sent him toppling overboard.

"Yes, let us congregate," Two-X replied, equally unperturbed by the situation.

As High Tide sunk deeper into the depths of the gloomy sea, his processor backflipped in confusion. One second ago, he had been cleaning his fishing net whilst waiting for Quickshadow to show up. But seemingly out of oblivion, he was sent plummeting over the side of his ship into the deep, murky waters below. Waving his mighty arms with expedition, he propelled his intense weight upwards against the ever pressurizing current around him. He slowly swam towards the shifty light of the surface, and as he did so, he was comm-linked by Quickshadow.

 _"High Tide, I'm here. Where are you?"_

"I'm a little busy right now, Quickshadow!"

 _"What the heck is that supposed to mean? Where's the net? High Tide, I don't like my time being wast_ — _"_

"I was thrown overboard, femme! There's an intruder on the ship! Probably a 'Con!"

 _"W-What?! A Decepticon? But how? They don't have any interest in this region."_

"Don't know, don't care. Go find that stowaway and blast them to the Pit!"

 _"But what about you?"_

"I can handle myself! Go get that son of a gli-it—"

 _"High Tide!?"_

After receiving nothing but the sound of rushing water as a response, Quickshadow transformed and sped her way down the halls of the vessel. Because of his extensive weight, High Tide was sinking further into the water's depths as each second ticked by. And since his T-cog was damaged from a recent tussle with he'd had with a shark, he couldn't just transform into a submarine and get back up to land by himself.

When Quickshadow came upon the jury-rigged repository, she detected the heat signatures of three small creatures. She transformed back into her bipedal mode and rushed through the door but found herself covering her face as a painfully bright light assaulted her optics.

Before, there had sat one of Windblade's cache pods that High Tide had been transporting to the Griffin Rock science lab. After, there was nothing. No weapons reserve, no heat signatures, no intruders—nothing. Just an empty space and a whole lot of questions racing through Quickshadow's mind.

 _"Quickshadow!"_ High Tide shouted out, causing her to wince from the spontaneous, harsh noise.

"High Tide, how are—"

 _"Damage report! Gimme a damage report! Did you catch the Decepticon?"_

"Gahh! High Tide, I'm calling the rescue team. The intruder got away from me before I could identify them. Windblade's southeastern cache pod is gone. You've been looted!"

Quickshadow covered her audio receptors as High Tide screamed. "Listen, gramps; we'll have you back up in no time," she said, though with a little trepidation. "Just keep swimming, alright?"

 _"Slag-g-i_ — _"_

The line went dead again.

Quickshadow made an emergency call to the inland rescue team. No doubt Blades was going to have a hard time pulling the strappy Autobot out from the water, but luckily Heatwave was a triple changer who could transform into a boat.

* * *

 _ **Several Hours Later...**_

* * *

"Stop it," Zero ordered.

 _"You aren't a big fan of cooperation, are you?"_

"Autobot, I am tired of being carried by you at every turn. Unleash me this instant."

 _"I can't. I have a job to do,"_ Bumblebee said with a simulated groan. This was getting ridiculous. _"Come on. You know this. You aren't (static) exactly a welcome guest."_

"Hmph! Fine." Zero squirmed and wriggled her body free from Bumblebee's grip, causing him to stumble forward as he vainly attempted to hold her down. "Unhand me, abomination!" she screamed.

 _"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!_ _"_

Bumblebee pinned her between both of his servos. And as she twisted and jerked in his hold, he presented her with an expression that was a mixture between ire and offense. She was kind of mean. Primus, abomination? It wasn't the first time he had been called that, but still, her words stung. They were just so... _dehumanizing._

"I will not yield! Autobot, I swear you will regret having ever laid optics on me. You made a grave mistake bringing me here!"

 _"Yeah, yeah. Keep on talking. It won't be long until (static) NEST (static) busts all your friends. After that, (static) we can discuss your attitude problem."_

By this point, Bumblebee was fed-up with Zero's constant insubordination and back-handed insults. The way she spoke about his kind irked him to a degree that he had never experienced before. She only ever referred to him as Autobot, alien, invader, or some variation of the word monster. Sure, she'd been captured and had every right to protest that much, but the unrelenting disparages she launched against his species were exhausting and really getting down on his mental health.

"Don't you dare talk down to me!" Zero snapped, hostility abundant in her tone.

At that, Bumblebee released a throaty chuckle, which caused her to clench her teeth in apprehension. It wasn't like his usual chuckles; the sound wasn't friendly and asinine. This one was condescending and tired. Once he finished, she thought she could see the slightest glint of malice in his otherwise kind optics. _"You have got to be the (static) biggest hypocrite I have ever met,"_ he said. _"Because all you ever do (static) is talk down to me."_

Zero felt her stomach knot at the sound his tone. "I merely go about my duties as directed," she said. "I have no idea why you keep calling me that, but as my partner Jett would say, knock it off."

 _"Are you kidding me? Believe it or not, I have (static) duties to fulfill as well; one of which includes (static) keeping you under control. Understand?"_

A miasmic silence fell between the duo, and neither of them felt the need to remedy it.

But Zero felt unsettled by his words. Was she being hypocritical? When had she talked down to him? Was it when she had called him an abomination?

The definition of the word abomination is this: a thing that causes a sense of disgust or hatred; a feeling of loathing. Cybertronians certainly ignited those feelings within the Director and her fellow men in arms. Was that blatant observation not a fact? It wasn't talking down to him if it was a fact, right?

As Bumblebee shuffled down the hall, Zero felt like she was in another realm. Her view dragged and distorted at spontaneous intervals, and preponderant letters shifted through her head as irrelevant, nebulous memories from the distant past emerged from the depths of her mental limbo. His words were causing her to lose it.

 _ ***ZZZzzt! ZZZzzt!***_

Bumblebee responded to the buzzing noise by clicking the side of his helm, answering the incoming call. It was Lennox. _"Y'ello?"_ he said through his comm-link.

 _"Bumblebee, where are you right now?"_

 _"I'm heading back to my quarters, Major. Look, if this is about the twins again, then I'm sorry. I have other matters I need to be_ _taking care of."_ He stole a glance at Zero. The way she had suddenly started staring at nothing was kind of freaking him out. It was like she was glitching or something.

 _"Haha, no. 'Bee, I'm just gonna cut to the chase. We need you in the war room. High Tide was attacked_ — _shoved overboard and left to sink. And one of Windblade's cache pods was stolen off his vessel in Griffin Rock."_

Bumblebee's optics darkened and his body went stiff. But Zero, who was still malfunctioning in his palm, didn't acknowledge this or his sudden frontal impediment. _"He was tossed overboard? How is that_ _even possible? The guy_ _is huge!"_

 _"I don't know, bud. But I think we might have someone who has an idea as to what went down."_

Bumblebee shuttered his air vents, morbidly intrigued. _"Did High Tide_ _see who it was?"_

 _"No, he didn't. It was Quickshadow who managed to catch something interesting. Get down here, and we'll talk about it further. I have several reasons to believe this is a 'Bee-team matter and not just a general Autobot concern."_

 _"A_ _'Bee_ _team matter?"_ Bumblebee echoed. _"Alright, I'm on it. Just give me a few_ _minutes to drop_ _Zero_ _off at my quarters."_

 _"Yeah, about that... You're gonna have to blindfold her. Braginsky says she's needed at this meeting."_

Bumblebee recoiled. _"What?"_

 _"Look, just get down here. I may have a say in some of the rules, but not all of them. If Braginsky says she's needed, then sorry, but she's needed. He's the head honcho around these parts. Lennox out."_

Okay, now Bumblebee was concerned. High Tide had been shoved overboard his own ship, this was apparently a 'Bee-team matter—which immediately factored in Cemetery Wind—and Zero was wanted by the Lieutenant General who had a distinct niche for sadism. On top of that, she was having a psychotic break in his palm. Awesome. Just dandy.

Bumblebee shook the woman in his servo. _"Hey, talk to me,"_ he said in the sternest voice he could muster _. "My superiors want to see you."_

Silence.

 _"Come in, ground control. Earth to ground control, give me your report."_

Nothing. Completely unresponsive, Zero sat still and said nothing.

 _Desperate times call for_ _drastic measures,_ Bumblebee thought before he hollered, _"PIGTAILS, (STATIC) ANSWER ME!"_

"Ugh, stop that," Zero muttered.

Bumblebee pumped his fist in victory, thanking his god that that nickname always worked. _"She's alive!"_ he cheered.

Zero sighed. "Be silent. If it is a must, then I will allow you to take me to face your leaders without restraint. But if I am shocked then I will exact vengeance against all of you; make no mistake."

Bumblebee nodded his helm sarcastically. "S _ure. Listen, for your own sake, (static) please answer whatever questions you're asked. I don't want to see (static) you get hurt again."_

"...Neither do I, Autobot. I also don't want to be hurt again. Pain is horrific..." Covering her milky white face with the back of her hand, Zero shivered at the memory of her last shock.

Bumblebee felt a horrible tug in his spark when he saw the fear in her eyes. The little Earth femme was always so morose and disconsolate, so cheerless and bleak. She may have been eccentric and almost goofy to watch at times, but Primus, melancholia radiated off of her like a disease. The worst part of it all was that she didn't even realize her own abnormalities. It made him sick.

 _"D-Don't worry,"_ he said suddenly. _"I promise, (static) I won't let anything happen to you."_

Zero merely closed her eyes and sunk into his warm palm. "So you say, but tell me, are you really in any sort of position to say such a thing? What power do you really have here? If I am electrocuted, then so be it. Words of empty meaning ease no tensions of mine. Dealing with my presence is an obligation to you, much like how enduring your existence is an encumbrance for me."

Bumblebee drooped his doorwings solemnly, disheartened by Zero's blatant demoralization of him. Her words wounded him, particularly because she had a point. What power did he have in this base? He'd been branded as a leader, yet he was still smothered under layers of human control. But even though that was the truth, and even though he may have been a prankster and a fun-lover, he certainly was no liar. He meant every word he had just said. _"Please, just believe me."_

"Why should I believe anyone other than my direct superiors? I have no reason to trust you, Autobot, and vice versa. What do you owe me other than the bare minimum level of effort? I certainly wouldn't be bothered by it. That is how prisoners are to be dealt with, after all."

 _"I can't accept that. I would never_ _(static)_ _treat a human poorly."_

"Don't acknowledge me. Your lack of friendliness would make my life much less bothersome."

 _"...Maybe it would, but I refuse to let you continue on like this. Whatever (static) Cemetery Wind (static) has done to you isn't right."_

Zero exhaled in defeat. She was tired of this seemingly endless and aimless rigmarole. Bumblebee was beginning to make her mind spin again with his sugary, illusory words.

"You don't make any sense to me," she said as she rested her head against her knees.

 _"...I know."_

* * *

 ** _A/N: Like the Velgrox, Quickshadow, High Tide, and Charlie Burns are characters from the Rescue Bots cartoon. Griffin Rock is the show's primary setting._**


	10. Comparisons

_"Are you doing all right?"_ Bumblebee asked Zero quietly, his borrowed voice barely above a whisper, for the oxygen around him was growing thicker with tension as each tedious second ticked by.

A full fifteen minutes had come to pass, yet there was still no sign of Quickshadow. Braginsky crossed his arms while tapping his foot against the war room's superlative marble floor. Fixating his gaze on the looming ground bridge portal, he exhaled with a noticeable hint of tetchiness. Strongarm, Drift, and Sideswipe stood beside one another in a taciturn, sloppy line, whereas Lennox prepped the widescreen for the future presentation.

"This blindfold is scratchy," said Zero. "But I am otherwise unaffected by the fabric impeding my visual capabilities."

 _"Okay, cool. Say, can I ask you a question?"_

Zero angled her head in the direction of Bumblebee's unusual musical tonality, and replied with a flimsy, "That depends entirely on the nature of your inquiry."

Bumblebee lazed against the hoary wall behind him and eyeballed his fun-sized female companion attentively. As weird as it may have sounded, he couldn't help but think that she looked kind of winsome right then and there. She sat crisscross in his palms, and the way her blindfolded face followed the sound of his offbeat vocals was humorous in a playful, almost waggish kind of way. But of course, despite her unintentional quirkiness, her tone was still as ineffectual and formal as ever.

 _"Why do you talk like that?"_

"Like what?" Zero quizzed, distinctly stupefied. "I can discern no issues with my verbal methodology. Your reservation fails to register with me, Autobot. Please clarify your question with further details."

Bumblebee shook his helm knowingly. He had already assumed that she would say something like that, given the way that she was. _"You just talk funny. Don't you know_ _how to be casual?"_

Zero took a second to ruminate over her keeper's query. Resting her chin on her hand, she mulled over his words with a sense of incongruous wonder. Ultimately coming up with nothing, she merely tilted her head to the side in detached equity. She remembered that Jett had once asked her a similar question several months prior, but she had not been able to find the words inside herself to formulate an adequate response to him then. All of the Xs spoke as she did. Her words weren't articulated in an incorrect fashion, so what was the hitch? Behavioral meagerness simply wasn't apart of her job description, and she had no desire to partake in such empirical abnormalities. She was a weapon and a soldier; therefore, she was to act like it at all times. Cogs exist for the sole purpose of aiding their series of projections; they don't stray from their designated framework.

Zero opened her mouth to speak, but promptly closed it again when she heard the customary whirl of the ground bridge starting up. Bumblebee and the rest of his team turned to face the swirling Aegean lights and watched as the portal opened in an illustrious flash. The vogue and stylish silhouette of Quickshadow promptly emerged from the shifting vortex, and Braginsky cocked a gray eyebrow downwards when he noticed the unwanted frame of High Tide shuffling in behind her. Lennox stood at the podium and laced his fingers together in preparation. At long last, the meeting could commence.

As NEST's Autobot guests made themselves comfortable and some leftover human officials docked themselves at their designated posts, Braginsky swiftly took to the stand in his usual place right beside Lennox. Not wasting a second, he eagerly scrutinized the femme and mechanoid duo. For some odd basis, he had a hunch that this meeting was going to be a riot. "Quickshadow! I'm glad you could finally make it," he said, albeit a bit too cheerily.

Quickshadow pursed her varnished lip-plates together in hesitation. Chief Burns had caught her up to speed on NEST's Lieutenant General and his... _fluctuability,_ to say the least, before she had arrived. Even though Chief Burns had met with Braginsky only twice in his life, he'd been quick to spot his duplicitous mannerisms and generally untrustworthy ambiance. Before Quickshadow had exited Griffin Rock's mainland rescue center, she knew that she'd screwed up by not pressuring High Tide to hurry. Though Lennox may have been a decent guy, it was evident that his power paled in comparison to Braginsky's.

 _Oh well, better make up for my mistakes now,_ Quickshadow thought before clearing her vocal modulator. Standing pin-straight, she gave a respectful salute before saying, "My apologies, Lieutenant General, sir. You see, my lateness was the result of some ground bridge complications."

Braginsky rolled his eyes knowingly. This Autobot really thought that she could lie to him, huh? "Yes, I'm confident that was the case, cadet. Now, why don't you do me a favor and enlighten me about something? Why exactly is the cache ne'er-do-well here? I do believe that I only asked you to come to this meeting and give your testimony."

Upon hearing the NEST leader's undiplomatic micro-aggression towards him, High Tide's entire frame creaked unpleasantly. And before Quickshadow could say anything, he took an assiduous step forward. "So _you're_ NEST's top lapdog, eh?" He clicked his denta disapprovingly, noting to everyone that he was unimpressed by the sight before him. "For such a little slagger, you certainly have quite the slippery tongue. Oh, and why am I here, you ask? Well, I'm here because I want to be. My ship was boarded without my knowledge, and my cargo was stolen. If you've got a problem with my presence, then I'd love to see you do something about it."

At that, everyone tensed, especially Bumblebee and Lennox. It had literally been two minutes, yet right off the bat, things were beginning to hit the fan. This meeting was shaping up to look like the one X-Brawn had been involved in several months prior.

"Mhm. Very funny," Braginsky said. "Little slagger, was it? You Cybertronians and your fun little swears. Leave it to the robot aliens to be so creative. You know, since you asked so straightforwardly, I would be more than happy to show you just what I could do~"

Okay, too far. Lennox slammed his fists against the podium. He had to put a stop to this, right here, right now. "Alright, order!" he shouted. "High Tide, stand down. Quickshadow, your report."

"Yes, Major," Quickshadow said, also eager to douse the fire's flaring embers. "As most of you are already aware, before the cache pod was stolen, I managed to capture something rather peculiar. I've already sent the visual feed to NEST straight from my memory files, so if someone could pull that up, I would be most grateful."

Stating nothing, the primary human official who was working the widescreen did as she asked by pulling up the feed, allowing it to play in front of everyone. Bumblebee, Strongarm, Drift, and Sideswipe watched the screen with interest, whereas Braginsky and High Tide stared each other down in an audacious manner. Lennox made sure he kept a keen eye on his short-fused superior since it was beyond evident that today was going to be one of _those_ days, and High Tide's crude, no-nonsense attitude posed a threat to the sanctity of the meeting.

Once the short video finished, the human on duty rewound the feed and paused it right at the moment before the unknown triune vanished into thin air. Bumblebee couldn't resist looking down at Zero in curiosity, who had been silently listening to everything from the center of his palm. As always, her expression was stilted and unreadable. Her lips were completely straight, but there was something a bit off about her body language. When High Tide had gone on his little rant to Braginsky, Bumblebee had noticed a sharp and sudden spike in her blood pressure. It had dropped the second the larger mech shut his mouth, but it was still something that he took note of.

Drift made a "Hmm" noise, breaking the silence around him.

" _Hmm,_ indeed," Braginsky said, deriding him. "Three small heat signatures, a systematic flare, and nothing. I think we all know that I'm not a fan of beating around the bush, so yeah. This has Cemetery Wind written all over it, hence why I have requested that our little prisoner be brought here today. Something tells me she may know a thing or two about this situation."

High Tide aimed a rusted silver finger at Braginsky. "You tryin' to say some puny humans looted my ship? Gimme a break! Those could have just as easily been a trio of rogue Minicons. No human is smart enough to build a portable ground bridge, let alone strong enough to kick me overboard. Heck, you all can barely dispose of your fragging trash properly, yet you expect me to believe that your kind was behind this? Preposterous."

Zero noticeably fidgeted in Bumblebee's palm. He could feel her blood pressure rising once more. The heat was beginning to radiate off of her body at a more intense pace, but not knowing what to make of it, he said nothing. On the flip side, Braginsky frowned deeply. If there was anything he hated in this life (and there was a lot) it was alien robots; especially alien robots who thought they could trash-talk him just because he was human.

Quickshadow swiveled her helm to look up at her older confrère. It almost seemed as though High Tide was purposely antagonizing the Lieutenant General, and it was making her, as well as everyone else, extremely nervous. "High Tide..." she cautioned.

"Hahaha!" Sideswipe chortled. The traction was beginning to make his Energon run cold, and he wanted to do something about it, so after giving High Tide a rough and hearty smack on the back, he said, "That was a good one, 'Tide, you old sea dog!"

High Tide gifted Sideswipe with a loathsome scowl. "It's a shame I wasn't joking. Get your damned servo off of me, youngling."

Sideswiped flinched and pulled his appendage away with haste. He shot a worried glance towards Lennox and meekly shuffled beside Strongarm once again. Things were about to get ugly.

"Rogue Minicons, you say? That's a cute idea, but sorry, we've beaten you to that thought. Such an option would be plausible if our boys hadn't killed them all and ground them into junk metal," said Braginsky.

"Pffft! Human, you haven't seen Minicons as I have," High Tide replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if there were a legion of 'em hiding underground or in the depths of your uncharted oceans somewhere. Organic technology is too primitive to pick up anything like that. Two-hundred thousand years of evolution and your collective species is about as intelligent as the average sparkling. Pathetic."

Braginsky went red with rage. High Tide was really starting to piss him off now, and the final threads of his dwindling self-restraint finally snapped under the pressure. "Okay, you listen here, you swashbuckling matelot cuckwit. In case your processor burned out and you can't recall, my species managed to decode your entire fucking genome. Jesus Christ, you know nothing about us at all. Reverse engineering is something my kind is quite adept at, so believe it or not, we actually would be able to pick something like that up. Maybe you would've had a valid point if you brought me that argument ten years ago."

"Yet you still use walkie-talkies," High Tide said, directing his helm towards the Major General. There was a shiny walkie-talkie clasped egregiously at the side of his waist. "Compared to Cybertron, Earth is nothing but a muddy scrap heap. I tolerate this planet, human, as well as your vapid, inutile kind."

Zero twitched yet again.

"We use walkie-talkies on the base and during missions because we can scramble their audio signatures easier, you godforsaken robot menace. You don't like Earth? Please, go cry me a river. Nobody's asking you to stick around, especially with that beloved Prime of yours long gone. If you hate this place so goddamned much, then get lost. I've heard the firestorms on Mercury are particularly hellish this time of year," Braginsky said with a toothy grin.

High Tide widened his yellow optics in unbridled fury. "You dare bring Prime's name into this?! You have a set of brass bearings, human. I'll give you that much. And by the way, I would've already vacated this horrid rock if I wasn't so eager to watch your kind destroy itself in fifteen some-odd years. Maybe after the apocalypse ensues, I'll take my leave. After all, I wouldn't want to deny myself the pleasure of watching such a gratifying ending to another selfish race."

Zero shot up in Bumblebee's palm, and he wobbled as he tried to keep himself from dropping her.

Drift felt the need to speak up; this meeting was entering the point of no return. "Will you all—!"

"Shut up!" High Tide and Braginsky shouted in unison, causing Drift to spring back and clamp his mouth closed in shock.

Braginsky's eyes bulged, and a pulsating, wormish-looking vein appeared as though it was about to bust out of his forehead. "You're lucky I'm such a nice guy because I could have you incinerated for treason after saying that, you exhaust breathing sack of shit! High Tide, right? Well, you and your cunting chassis are a disgrace to this planet and its native inhabitants. Prime told me personally that he despises your toadying, thick-headed, hateful guts, and promises that Megatron will stick a red-hot poker so far up your fucking aft you will be able to roast chestnuts on your own fucking denta."

"Why I oughta—!" High Tide was equally enraged, and Bumblebee noticed that his core temperature was beginning to rise dramatically. His faceplates contorted themselves into a wicked frown, and he balled his studded fists with fierce irascibility. "Keep Prime's name out of your dirty organic mouth, you little fragging scraplet! Why don't you just go and blow yourself up with nuclear war? I swear that this Primus forsaken planet is bound to become a wasteland. Go figure the children of Unicron would be lamentable to almost every degree imaginable. Human, I pity a universe where your kind escapes this atmosphere. Never before in the entirety of my existence have I ever encountered an alien race as abominable, warmongering, and lazy as yours."

That was it.

Utilizing the full power of her mechanized legs, Zero high-tailed out of Bumblebee's hold and made a mad dash across the room towards the podium. Bumblebee beeped and squirmed as he tried to catch her, but his reach just barely came up short. Ripping the blindfold off of her face mid-flight, Zero discarded it to the side and just kept running. Quickshadow backed away as Zero expertly parkoured over the side of her pede and slid to a halt in front of Braginsky. And before he could muster even the simplest of reactions, she tossed him over her shoulder and kneed him square in the groin.

The fanatical, unconstrained crunch of her superpowered knee coming into contact with his genitals echoed throughout the room. Braginsky passed out on sight. The acute and searing pain was just too much for him to handle.

Strongarm covered her face in shock, Sideswipe winced, and Drift blanched. Man, that had to have hurt. Bumblebee couldn't even react. The pummeling had happened so quickly that he didn't have any time to process its severity. Lennox was in the same boat as Bumblebee, but as he felt himself involuntarily raise his hands in surrender, he came to the full cognizance that the tweaking girl hadn't even looked at him.

"What in the Allspark!?" High Tide boomed, not deterring Zero as she climbed on top of the podium.

Once she steadied her balance, she broadcasted a scowl of absolute disgust and detestation to everyone in the Command Center. "Silence!" she roared, raising her fist into the air. Harshly pointing to her gobsmacked audience, she glowered at them all in deep-seated antipathy. "You're all fools. Fools, every last one of you." She then focused her scrutiny on High Tide and started examining him in a brutally censorious, damning manner. "Autobot, you have flippantly accused my kind of possessing several disdainful qualities, and although some of which may be true, I must ask you something because I don't seem to follow your hypocrisy."

She blinked and regarded Bumblebee with a scintilla of remorse. His mouth was agape, and he shuffled back and forth, not knowing if he should scoop her up and leave or let her say her piece. But with the stern glare she was giving him, he decided on the latter option.

But the glare wasn't supposed to be stern, however, as Zero finally understood what he had meant just a few hours prior. She _had_ indulged in hypocrisy. Listening to the seaward mech's distasteful words about her people made her realize that, and shame encroached on her mental sphere like a merciless parasite. Her speech towards Bumblebee had been cruel and unfiltered, similarly to how High Tide's had been towards Braginsky, and Braginsky's had been towards High Tide.

"You call my people selfish, greedy, lazy, and warmongering as if your people aren't. But what about you, Autobot? What about your world? How many vorns have passed and still your war has not been won?" she asked with utmost sincerity. "It is no secret that the two raging factions obliterated Cybertron, yet your kind still quarrels and willingly slaughters one another despite your impending extinction. You aliens mindlessly place my people in danger, which is why I exist today. Cybertronians, whether they be Autobot or Decepticon, are equivalent in the respect that they are invaders to the Earth." Zero stopped and mentally beaconed every human in the room. And at that moment, Bumblebee thought he could see the faintest spark of life emerge from the inky cloudiness of her irises. "You proclaim that we will destroy ourselves, and perhaps one day that may be. If so, then it reminds me of a line in T.S. Elliot's, 'The Hollow Men'," she said. "'This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper...'"

Sideswipe and Strongarm exchanged looks, both lost and disoriented. What the heck was she going on about?

"...But I disagree. Even if our battles turn to genocide and our wars prove to be fruitless, if nuclear winter eventually plagues the Earth, unlike Cybertron, it will continue to exist. Time will pass, the clouds will clear, and the soot will have finally fallen from the heavens above. With the rising temperatures, you may ask what would be left of us—what would our legacy be? You could say that the world had ended, that we'd caved into our instincts and given up hope. Or you could say something else entirely. Where we stand is not destroyed. We are not sat in ruins but in something that is waiting to be built. From these ashes, we can rise and create beauty. The crumbling walls are not a representation of our failures, but of the lessons we have learned. In the words of Carl Sagan, a new conscience is developing—one which sees the Earth as a single organism and recognizes that an organism at war with itself is doomed..." She trailed off and shook her head. "We are one planet, and though that may be, we shall prevail. That, Autobot, is the difference between our world and Cybertron—the difference between Homosapiens and Cybertronians. We may be self-centered and divided, but with each passing conflict, we look to our history and remember. I say these words not with disdain, but with disappointment. Had your people learned from their mistakes, then perhaps your world wouldn't have met such a bitter, untimely demise."

Stepping down from the podium, Zero regarded her spectators with a face so stonelike and cryptic, so Delphic and oblique, that some forced themselves to look away. The kind of silence that followed after she spoke was deafening—so much so that it placed the unremitting aftermath of Hiroshima and Nagasaki to shame. Not only High Tide but Bumblebee his team beheld the woman with disbelief. Every one of their processors was vacuous and deadpan. There was just nothing they could say.

Zero reconnoitered Braginsky as he feebly slipped a pained finger into the folds of his uniform pocket. Though the man appalled her, she wordlessly reached out her hand to help him. Slapping away her offer, he slowly stood up with a few wobbles in between each grimace.

Zero shut her eyes and waited expectantly, bracing herself for what was to come.

Before she collapsed from the unyielding agony of being shocked, she caught a glimpse of Bumblebee's frenzied servo reaching out for her.

But once the blurriness subsided, there was nothing but an endless, all-consuming black.


	11. Resolutions

Zero tossed and turned between the dominion of grotesque reality, and savage, frightening dreams.

Bumblebee hugged her close to his chest with an unbearable sense of solemn sorrow. He had failed her again. Even after he had assured her that she would always be safe with him, he had failed her. _Primus, why do I have to be like this?_ he asked himself more than he did his god.

Up until this point, she had already possessed very few reasons to trust him. And because she had been shocked again, there was no way she would even entertain the thought. But it's not like it wasn't warranted, because, through his inaction, he had proved his previous words to be farcical. In his mind, he had committed an irrevocable malefaction. He had betrayed his declaration; therefore, he had not only deceived her, but he had prevaricated her. Churring in culpable dejection, he pressed his forehead against her quivering, but otherwise dormant frame, and just listened. The way her heart thumped from behind the cage of her chest reminded him of how his spark thrummed within its casing. And the way her blood circulated throughout her organic arteries reminded him of how his Energon coursed throughout the tubular circuits of his synthetic veins.

Bumblebee inclined his helm against the adamantine berth behind him and gritted his denta together. He wasn't particularly certain as to why he felt the need to do so, but what he was certain about was that Issac Braginsky was a dastardly human being, and one day, without question, karma would sink its fangs into him.

When he had watched Zero fall to the floor yet again, Bumblebee had noted how her eyes chilled and lost their ailing but keen spark. He maledicted his past self for not snatching her and getting out of that meeting while he could. He had the chance, but despite his more reasonable judgment, he had caved into his own self-doubt. It was a mistake that Optimus Prime would never have made, and it was a mistake he swore he'd never make again. The second he sensed danger was afoot, he was going to grab Zero and high-tail her out of there, no matter the cost or consequences.

Though the Lieutenant General may have been his sachem, Bumblebee couldn't help but abhor the man for every action he took. Unlike Prime, Braginsky was cruel and unfiltered, crass and condescending, unnecessarily violent and brash. There was no ray of benevolence to be uncovered within his personality, and it made Bumblebee wonder how someone like him could've wangled such a high-ranking position. But then, in a split second of remembrance, Megatron enthusiastically extolled his conscience. By no means was he saying that the Lieutenant was exactly like Megatron, (so far he wasn't a psychopathic world-destroyer hell-bent on killing half of his race) but it was undeniable that they both shared some repellantly similar qualities.

Aside from that, however, Bumblebee's failure to defend Zero made him begin questioning his own capabilities yet again. He had literally told her a few hours before the snafued meeting began that he wasn't going to let anything happen to her, yet he had. He angrily mulled the scene over and over in his processor, wanting desperately to punch something. The woman herself had even told him not to make nonsensical promises, and though he had thought that he could prove her wrong, it was _she_ who had turned the tables on _him_ just a short time later.

Abruptly and unexpectedly, Zero groaned, making Bumblebee shoot his helm up like a bullet. He flicked his antennas upward, but let them sag back down again when she merely rolled over on his chest. Imitating a sigh, he repositioned his servos around her so that she would be better protected. What she was to be protected from, he couldn't say. But knowing she wasn't exposed to the open air salved his whirling conscience if only a little bit.

A few minutes passed with nothing transpiring, but once again, Bumblebee ended up detecting a smothered burble from Zero.

"...Where am I?" she murmured.

For a second, Bumblebee's mind buzzed with the excitement of a sparkling. But then the harsh truth of the situation came crashing down upon him. Now that she was attentive, he would have to confront her.

Zero just surveyed him with half-lidded, jaded eyes. "Autobot," was the only word she could be bothered to convene.

Her previously dulcet tone now held a raucous huskiness to it, and Bumblebee meekly shielded his optics when she began her established routine of staring him down. Like always, her gaze was penetrating and invasive, but there was a crucial difference in the look she gave him now. Instead of being despotic and unmitigated, it was almost sympathetic and thoughtful. Pitiful, even.

Bumblebee tried to conjure up an explanation for his negligence—a reason for his inaction. But in the end, he just submissively lowered his helm, for the shame he felt upon seeing the inflamed, burnt red line that girded her throat was just too much for him to handle.

Zero didn't need to assert anything to understand that her keeper was under severe psychological duress. Like the last time she had been shocked, his spark drummed and flickered erratically but disconsolately. She could immediately infer that he was remorseful for what had transpired, and it made her think. She couldn't say that she blamed him for Braginsky's semi-electrocution of her since she had willingly blasted out of his hand and had stoked the flames of a race war without a shred of reluctance.

Putting that matter aside, Zero instead focused on the torrid blisters that littered her neck. She reached up to scratch and adjust her stun collar, but her hand was forcefully snatched away by another, more calloused one. Right away, she was a brief loss when she realized that the hand was human, and its size bore a striking resemblance to her own. Wanting to identify who the mystery appendage belonged to, she looked up and was intrigued to behold the sight of Bumblebee's holoform. It appeared identical to the time when she had first seen it, as it was adorned in the same casual garb, and its face was still as handsome and personable as ever.

Bumblebee quivered as he tightly restrained her wrist. "Don't do that," he said a little too quickly. "You could make it worse. The practitioners gave you some ointment, but your healing nanites should take care of the worst of it in a day or two."

Silence.

Bumblebee saw that he still hadn't let go of Zero's wrist, and immediately did so when she didn't respond. He nervously sat down on his own chest and threw his hands up in the air to signify that he meant no harm, all while he waited for her to reply. But much to his dismay, it didn't seem as though she was going to speak.

Though he desperately wanted to shatter the silence, he instead tousled his sandy golden hair with a finely tanned hand and looked elsewhere. Primus, he was so ashamed. She most likely wanted him dead as repentance for his folly. She did swear that she would exact vengeance against him if she were to be shocked again.

"...Autobot," Zero started, "how did you know my healing capabilities were enhanced with the use of microscopic nanites?"

Huh?

Bumblebee widened his clement eyes when she offered him a quizzical, almost innocent cast. She didn't look vexed in the slightest. "E-Excuse me _?_ " he said.

"I have no desire to repeat myself. I am already aware that your hearing capabilities are far from inept, so respond with diligence," Zero said in her traditional, hollow timbre.

"Well, I... Uh, blood tests? I've done plenty of scans on you, so I know that nanites are—"

"That response is satisfactory. Now, if you do not mind, I am going to go take a shower."

Bumblebee was lost. Who cares about her nanites? She had just been shocked to the Well of Allsparks and back, yet he couldn't detect the slightest hint of fury from her. It was incontestable that she was capable of such emotions—he had personally discerned it and had been at the receiving end of her verbal wrath several times in the past. "Wait!" he shouted after her.

Zero turned around and regarded Bumblebee with little interest. Her current mission was to bathe, and he was impeding on her goal. "What do you want from me?"

"Aren't you mad? He shocked you again, yet—"

"It was entirely out of my hands," Zero said, but then a conjecting guise crossed her banal visage. "If this is about that insensate covenant you professed, then I believe I encouraged you not to verbalize such nonsensical remarks."

"But I should've... I could've..."

"Done nothing. Abstain from your loquacity at once. Your prattling is beginning to give me a headache."

Bumblebee went stock-still. For sure, he was going to get it now.

"What could you have done from the other side of the room? Autobot, I was already privy to the consequences of my actions before I set them in motion. What transpired was not a probability, but an inevitability. As my partner Jett once forewarned me, do not take on the responsibilities of a superhero. You will never be one."

Bumblebee went into defense-mode at that opination. "Slag it! I wasn't trying to act like a hero! It's because I wasn't fast enough that—"

Under different circumstances, Zero wouldn't have paid Bumblebee's jejune meanderings any mind, but this time the situation was different. She didn't oppose the way he was speaking to her. The unbridled sincerity in his tone was unique, and nothing like she'd repeatedly heard hitherto. She could tell he was being genuine based on his body language. There was no shilly-shallying—only an unswerving acknowledgment of his errors and an unspoken promise to make amends for these autonomously. It was a thought-provoking locus to her, and she couldn't pinpoint the motivation within herself to express anger towards the remorseful, solicitous other-worlder as she said, "First of all, lies. Say you got to me, and then what? Would you have struck your superior officer? Look, dwelling on what could have been is illogical. I hold no current derision towards your general ineptitude, so I cannot fathom why you are so disturbed by what occurred."

Bumblebee was utterly astonished, but not in a good way. She retained a point, but he was still so wracked with guilt that he couldn't accept her answer. Deep in the young mech's spark, he almost wanted her to yell at him—almost yearned for her to conclude that what he had done was unforgivable. Because aside from Sideswipe, he was known for screwing up. It was all he thought of himself. Perplexingly, though, her lack of discordance was throwing him off. For the lengthiest amount of time, she had suffered no problem in showcasing her distaste for his kind, so why was this instance any different? Did Braginsky and High Tide's argument really have that profound of an effect on her?

"May I?" asked Zero as she inclined her body in the direction of the hidden restroom door.

Bumblebee nodded and collapsed onto his robot body in defeat, exhausted.

When she escaped his sight, he retracted his holoform in a tizzy. And as he waited for her to finish, he clicked on his flatscreen and sifted through the channels.

He had a lot to think about now.

* * *

When Zero exited the shower, she stared at herself in the mirror.

For the most part, she seemed to be the same. Her eyes were still the same shade of blue. Her hair was still shiny and Stygian. And her face was still as round and ideal as ever. She started inspecting her body and grumbled when she reached the space below her clavicle. Her breasts were still relatively small, which was something Jett would often tantalize her about, for whatever idiotic rationality.

Zero explored her neck with the pads of her fingers and found herself lightly scratching at the itchy, festering burns that littered her skin. Her collar covered the worst of it, but she still felt repulsed by the brief sight of the carnage.

"Vile," she said, her reflection echoing this same sentiment. That entire meeting had been nothing short of vile and atrocious. It was obscenely disorganized and unprofessional, so much so that it made her feel nauseated just thinking about it. To her, High Tide and NEST's Lieutenant General were equally revolting in the respect that they were tasteless, close-minded creatures. But despite that, she almost couldn't help but feel somewhat grateful that her presence had been required. Though technically nothing was resolved, she had finally been effective in broadcasting her inner thoughts to her captors, and for some dubious reason, a weight seemed to have lifted from her shoulders after doing so. Also, her newfound understanding of Bumblebee's previously risible words riveted her, and she wondered just what other answers lied within the world behind the peculiar robot's optics.

As she wiped her dripping body off with a fluffy white bath towel, Zero searched for her undergarments and one of her orange prison jumpsuits. Growing slightly miffed when she couldn't procure them, she began to move at a more rapid pace. She vigorously opened and closed several cabinet doors, and became even more frantic when she was hit with a brutal, almost volcanic realization.

She forgot. She had forgotten her clothes.

This was something a non-mechanized human would do, and it was extremely problematic.

Zero wracked her brain, struggling to figure out how such a vital matter could have slipped her awareness. She just couldn't recall having ever forgotten something before, and right now, she was just as lost as Bumblebee. She was branded with the designation Zero-X, which meant that she wasn't allowed to commit any act of solecism, no matter how irrelevant or insignificant.

Her head began to spin, and she ratiocinated as cognitive dissonance kicked in. The supposed detox the NEST medical practitioners were exacting on her was to blame. Without a doubt, that was the answer. Her brain chemistry was scrambled, so that was why she had committed such a mindless blunder. She wasn't a broken biorobot—she was merely being toyed with by NEST and their demonic staff.

Zero wrapped herself within her gauzy towel and then reached a nervous hand towards the doorknob. She had to retrieve her clothing. She had to make up for this blunder. _If I am discreet enough, the Autobot won't render me any mind,_ she concluded.

She hesitantly turned the golden latch and sneakily peeked out of the room, searching rapidly for Bumblebee's position. When she saw that he was perched in front of the flatscreen television, clearly engrossed in its contents, she exhaled a sigh of relief. The thought of having to ask him to grab her clothing seemed grotesquely unpleasant.

Zero tiptoed around the bend and ducked when she saw Bumblebee's antennas twitch. For a split second, she thought that she'd been heard. But rather than acknowledge her, he chirped in an act of childlike annoyance. He was following a game of human football, it seemed, and it appeared as though his favorite team was losing.

Zero scampered towards the dresser that was planted beside Bumblebee's berth, and when she got to it, she began pulling the drawers out from their stationary rectangular placement with extraordinary promptitude. The dresser creaked and rattled with the force of her movements, which made her curse NEST's officials for not equipping her with better living supplies. It was such a nonsensical grievance that she found it to be almost puerile. Not only did they neglect to provide her with a suitable cot, but they couldn't even be bothered to purchase her a decent dresser.

Zero swiftly grabbed her uniform, a pair of undergarments, and a lone bralette and bolted across the room again. And as her heavy metal feet made contact with the room's polished wooden floor, a brief but noticeable _'tap!'_ resonated throughout the immense, messy space.

Bumblebee casually moved his helm to the side, and when he did, he made perfect eye-contact with his little charge. Mortified, Zero merely sprinted to the restroom and slammed the door shut. Surprised and confused, Bumblebee mindlessly went back to observing his game. He made sure it was well established around the base that Zero was weird, so writing off her bizarre mannerisms as just another one of her bio-mechanical quirks, he figured he could just ask about it once she exited the restroom again. She had been too vivacious for him to analyze what she was up to.

While Zero changed into her standard prison livery, she felt her blood rush to her cheeks in bulk. She mentally chastised herself for being too rathe and timidly made her way out the door and towards the abandoned kitchen aisle, where she promptly sunk to her knees and patted her cheeks in concern. The fiery warmth was still there, and it was incredibly bothersome.

 _"Ayyy,"_ rehearsed a smooth, cutting voice. _"What's shakin', bacon?"_

As Jett would say, shit.

Pirouetting to face her looming keeper, Zero said, "You witnessed nothing!"

 _"_ _What'chu talkin' 'bout, Willis?"_

Zero pursed her lips at the snub-nosed remark. This Autobot absolutely loved playing games. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You locked eyes with me!"

 _"Woah! Chill yo' grill."_

"Autobot, why are you like this? And how is it that your voice sounds normal when communicating through your holoform, yet it goes back to being broken in your standard robot mode?"

 _"You're being weird, so I'm being weird. And when I (static) use my other body, (static) my voice comes straight from my head, (static) so I don't have to use the radio."_

"Well, that answers one of my questions." Staring deep into Bumblebee's soft optics, Zero probed them intensely for any signs of untruth. "...You did examine me, didn't you?"

Bumblebee trilled in unsureness. Zero complained about the most bizarre things, and currently, he was having a difficult time taking her seriously. The way her scanty, fluffy hair stuck up cheekily, and her buoyant, but by no means foolish words accompanied her alert expression was strangely entertaining to him. _"Yeah, technically?"_ he replied. _"But what's_ _the problem? Who cares?"_

Zero gave up. Bumblebee was right—who cares? She was acting eccentric because of the chemical imbalance that plagued her brain. Even if he had seen her, it wasn't a relevant concern to her. "Forget it. Autobot, I require proper, non-electrically-induced slumber," she said. "Today has not only been contentious in quality, but obscenely wearisome to every degree imaginable."

 _"Awww, but my game..."_

"Based on my brief observations, your team is bound to lose after the third half. I have no desire to remain awake while you tend to such predictable endeavors. Oh, and it is possible we wouldn't suffer these issues if your NEST associates would bother to arrange me with my own sleeping space."

Ignoring her last sentence, Bumblebee said, _"Did you just spoil a (static) live-action football game for me?"_

"Affirmative," she responded as she started in the direction of the nearest comic book pile. Perhaps the thickness of the paper would provide her adequate warmth throughout the wintry night? "I find it difficult to believe that you couldn't have predicted the outcome yourself. But aside from that desultory wastefulness, if you refuse to halt your recumbent actions, then I shall simply make a spot for myself on the floor."

 _"Okay! Okay!"_ said Bumblebee, conceding to her will. Given everything she'd endured, it was the least he could do for her. _"I guess it is about that time."_

He offered her a place it sit inside his gentle servos, and she reluctantly crawled into them and waited patiently. When he got himself into a comfortable recharging position on his berth, she hopped onto his warm chest, laid down, and positioned her body at such an angle so that he couldn't see her flushed face. She really wasn't a fan of having to sleep near her keeper, let alone on top of him. But she assumed that the underlying reason as to why NEST was deliberating on preparing her a suitable sleeping space was so that she wouldn't be free from his constant surveillance.

Before she closed her eyes, Zero attempted to do what she always did before falling asleep: she briefly surveyed her surroundings for any convenient tools for a forthcoming escape, cleansed her mind, and focused on Bumblebee's thrumming spark. In the beginning, it wasn't something she had done intentionally, but since her head was right above his spark chamber, it didn't make ignoring it a very straightforward task.

As Zero did all of this, Bumblebee beheld her with a sense of determined resolve.

He would do better. He had to.

* * *

"Where is she?!"

"Jett Sterling, I must ask that you disengage from this hostile confrontation. Your inability to comprehend the recent skirmishes of the X-Battalion is a matter to be taken up with the Director, not myself."

"Shut up. What I want to know is why you three haven't been out looking for Angel!"

Three-X looked decidedly stultified. The Director had never programmed him for handling the subject of emotional outbursts. "Jett Sterling, I know not of any Angel," he said. "To my expert understanding, angels are spiritual beings often depicted in folklore that are believed to act as attendants or agents to God. If this is not what you meant, then please restate your question and try once more."

"I meant Zero, you horrible little gremlin child," Jett replied. He seriously wasn't a fan of this kid, or any of the other Xs, frankly. All of them were freakish and disturbing in his eyes. The way they looked, talked, acted—everything about them simulated liveliness, but it was all a sham. If anything, One-X, Two-X, and Three-X were nothing but semi-organic Cleverbots. Philosophical zombies. Zero was the only one of them that was actually worth something to him because she actually possessed a semblance of autonomy and personality.

Though his cute little friend was obviously in need of some severe emotional intervention, it was grimly evident to Jett that the other three were a lost cause. They were too far gone, and it was because they were too far gone that he didn't feel like such a jerk for talking down to them. It's not like they even registered his digs, anyway.

Three-X blinked his dismal gray eyes, finally understanding who the dudgeoning agent was referring to. "Jett Sterling, locating the prototype is not a chief concern of the Director; ergo, it is not a chief concern of the cardinal X-Battalion."

"Tough shit. I want Zero found, and I want her found now," Jett said, his voice forthright and his posture inelastic. "It's been months, yet there hasn't been any sign of her. You four are like siblings, so aside from the Director excuse, what the hell are you deliberating for?"

Three-X stared unfeelingly into Jett's eloquent, emotive brown eyes. The non-biorobot submitted the strangest of inquiries. His vocalizations were everywhere, yet he seemed incredulous to the reality that he could not be understood. It made the youngest X's mind shift. Dealing with such heuristic conduct was simply not apart of his protocol. "As previously mentioned, the Director has expressed no interest in re-obtaining Zero-X from the NEST conglomerate; ergo, it is not a concern of the cardinal X-Battalion. In all likelihood, my eldest inferior has been eradicated by NBE-High General Morshower or NBE-Lieutenant General Braginsky. Searching for her would be improbable and a waste of resources at best. Also, Zero-X, One-X, Two-X, and I share no blood relation. Equating our work relationship to that of siblinghood is illogical."

Jett scoffed. "Eldest inferior? Bullcrap. Anyway, I refuse to believe that Zero would have allowed herself to get killed, especially by those NEST bastards. She's not like you. If anything, she's better than all three of you combined. At least she isn't a mindless psychopath."

Three-X elevated a bushy, brown eyebrow in temperate disillusionment. "Wrong. A psychopath is a person who suffers from a chronic mental disorder that causes them to display abnormal or violent social behavior. No biorobot has exhibited such tendencies, so your words are erroneous."

"...Are you shitting me?" Jett wondered out loud. "Listen, I don't care if you look like a kid. I know deep down in that thick skull of yours, you aren't. If you can't look at this situation from a comrade-to-comrade perspective, then let me present you with this: what if she's still alive? Are you just gonna let NEST's staff scan and scoop out her insides for their mad-scientist research?"

Three-X thought about Jett's question, examining his left brain as he did so. The overall likelihood that Zero-X was still operational was roughly 32% and decreasing with each passing day. Also, the Director had executed his order. That made Zero-X's functionality or non-functionality irrelevant to him and his compatriots. If she was still alive, then she was on her own.

The inanimate techno-organic relayed this information to Jett and left the situation behind him after walking out of the room.

Angered, Jett reached into his pants pocket, whipped out a pack of smokes, illuminated the end of one of the cancer sticks with his new cobalt lighter, and then stared up at the ceiling. "Damn it," he mumbled as he mussed his finely trimmed hair in exasperation. _Months._ Months had passed, yet there were absolutely no new leads on what could've become of Zero. It sickened him.

Jett missed Zero. She was his sullen partner, and in a way, his greatest responsibility. And if the Director and the X-Battalion weren't going to take action, then he decided that he would.

He would get her back. He had to.


	12. Debates and Escapes

"Listen to me, you two. I am the physical personification of monolithic logic and reason. I am not frequently mistaken. On the contrary, I am very seldom mistaken. Now give me the bowl."

 _"That's funny."_

"How is what I just said amusing?"

 _"It just is."_

"'Bee's right, girl," said Epps. "Smart as you are, I'd say five times outta ten you either speak in riddles or oxymorons. I mean, seriously. You and I both know that if I slid over the donut bowl, nobody'd ever see it again. That shit would vanish faster into the void than Roanoke."

 _"Plus, you'd make yourself sick,"_ Bumblebee added in.

Zero gave Bumblebee a black look. "Nonsensical. My anatomical configuration requires that my provender consumption is to be above average. You, Autobot, and you, soldier, have no right to restrict what baked goods I choose to ingest."

 _"I beg to differ. Aren't I (static) your keeper?"_

Epps cracked up with laughter.

Zero, on the other hand, was positively addled and a wee bit triggered. "Autobot, you're an irritant like none other. As are you, soldier. Jett would never let such blasphemous actions be taken against my intramural organs."

A frown dangled off the corners of Epps' lips as he said, "Okay, first of all, am I the only one who has been wondering who the hell this Jett guy is? And second of all, short stuff, just refer to me as Epps. It makes me feel weird when anyone calls me by anything else."

 _"Don't bother asking who he is,"_ Bumblebee said tersely. _"She won't answer. And is that so, (static) **Robert**?"_

Epps made a false gagging sound and casually flipped Bumblebee the bird. "Call me that again, and one of these days you might wake up a lovely shade of pink, 'Bee."

 _"Is that supposed (static) to constitute a threat? Attempt it, and you'll be sorry."_

A wicked grin spread across Epps' face, and he chuckled in an overtly exaggerated, theatrical tone. "But alas, my dear foreign friend—I never forgive, nor do I forget."

 _"You're so full of it."_

Epps waved Bumblebee's words away with a comical flick of his wrist. "Just make sure you watch your aft closely around April Fools day. I would hate to see that fine paint job of yours get tarnished."

 _"Whatever helps you sleep at_ —" Bumblebee halted, and then motioned to Zero. _"What the hell?!"_ Her face was stuffed with at least three mini-donuts.

Epps moved to snatch back his donut bowl but was beaten to the punch by Zero. Swallowing the baked mass with a loud gulp, she protectively hugged it to her uniformed chest and stood up abruptly. "I lay claim to this bowl of sweetened dough," she preached. "Like the morally insufficient explorers who ravaged the Americas, I decree that it is mine now. Should either of you express any form of physical recrimination, then I shall retaliate to the uttermost degree."

"Oh no, not again, Pigtails!" Epps yowled, signifying his declaration of war. "I got those damn donuts because I wanted some for myself. There's no way I'm gonna let you hog these!"

Ever since the chicken finger incident, Zero had developed a bit of a habit out of snatching bits and pieces of Epps' food whenever he left it alone. Bumblebee often dissuaded her from doing this, but she never bothered to extend him any mind, so he gave up on the matter entirely and just sat and stared whenever she partook in her ninja-vulturing antics. Personally, he thought it was hilarious.

"If that is your edict, then so be it, soldier," Zero said without affection or warmth. "Autobot, I will grant you the opportunity to speak for yourself. Whose side will you take in this injudicious endeavor? Choose wisely."

Bumblebee ultimately decided to remain neutral and said nothing.

"So you choose to stay silent," Zero said as she selfishly hugged the bowl tighter to her chest. "A horrible choice, really. But oh well."

Eliminating no time in between her words, she took off in an expeditious dash. She had secretly decided on a goal, and it was one that she was determined to accomplish. What it was? Well, it was this: as long as she was imprisoned within the confines of the NEST base, she was going to exploit even the tiniest of loopholes made available to her. It was vengeance—vengeance against her captors for plucking her from her life of semi-normalcy, vengeance for placing her under the jurisdiction of an invading Cybertronian, and vengeance for experimenting on her mental sphere with strange, paradigm-shifting stimulants.

As each tedious day slowly came to pass, Zero felt even less like herself as impossibly heteroclite feelings rose from the fleshy sump of her chest. And though she would never admit it, she was beginning to grow fearful of the dreams she had at night, the bizarre mood swings she experienced, and the unfound sense of commiseration she had towards the yellow and black Cybertronian. Her forgetfulness, her newfound bashfulness, and her spasmodic longing to see Jett again were new sentiments that she had yet to comprehend thoroughly.

She honestly shouldn't have missed Jett as much as she did, as he was merely her associate and nothing more. But within the past few months of being away from him, she steadily came to understand that the older man was comparatively more than that. He was her ally—her unnecessary confidant.

...Her friend, perhaps?

Zero couldn't recall ever possessing friends before. It was not in her protocol to act friendly towards external sources, and frankly, she ne'er had any desire to. But Jett was always congenial towards her, even when she didn't produce any apparent reason to warrant such behavior.

Also, with each passing day, Zero was beginning to grow more and more unsure of her position as the first, solitary member of the X-Battalion. None of the other Xs experienced any of her problems. They hadn't allowed themselves to get captured, but she had. They never exerted mental glitches, but she did. They never wavered from their train of thought, but doing so was her normalcy now. And as much as she didn't want to admit it, she knew she remained a lesser subject in the eyes of the Director. She had come to that conclusion one day after Three-X had openly referred to her as the most inferior of their ilk. And because she was inferior, there was a chance that the Director, or maybe even Jett, had relinquished her to her own devices.

The thought made Zero's head hurt. Inundate emotions she couldn't place bubbled from the nether of her mind like noxious swamp gas, and they made her feel dreadful. They were more damaging than shame, and it scared her to know that there were emotions worse than shame. All she wanted was to go back to the outpost—to get back on her previously assigned treatment plan—but she couldn't. She was trapped, and not only was she trapped, but day-by-day, she was wracked with unfamiliar doubts and harrowing jabs of self-loathing.

Bumblebee habitually denoted things that reminded Zero of Jett, and she couldn't help but feel a little grateful for it, even if he didn't recognize what he was doing at all. It was very puzzling, and it made her question his stance in her eyes. He was her keeper—the one who had dragged her headfirst into this mess—yet she couldn't say that she detested him completely. Although the past few months she had spent with him had been ruffling and sometimes aggravating, she would've been a liar if she said that he hadn't taught her anything. He had highlighted one glaring flaw in her character, which was something that Jett had yet to do directly.

Jett's approach whenever he spoke to her had always been consistently humanistic, whereas Bumblebee's was a bit more blunt and forthright. Bumblebee never hesitated to speak out when he thought that her actions were out of the ordinary. And even though she often didn't acknowledge why her actions were so strange, it made her re-think specific approaches to various topics.

But in spite of that, today, Zero was in a defiant mood.

She was tired of being cooped up in the NEST base and was tired of the endless restrictions that were placed upon her movements. She was sick of the headaches, the annoying conversations, and the unending hoard of invaders that walked past her as though nothing was amiss. So, with that motivation, she determined that if she couldn't have the donut bowl, then nobody could.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! She's making a break for it!" Epps said in a panic.

 _"Slag!"_ Bumblebee transformed into his vehicular mode. _"Robert, (static) get in!"_

Epps obliged and slid into shotgun.

Bumblebee sped out of the dining space like a rat with its tail set on fire. He had to work quickly because Zero was unnaturally fleet-footed _._ The way her mechanized legs enhanced her speed was something straight out of a superhero comic book. Thus far, he hadn't been able to determine her top-speed, but one time he had clocked her in at forty-six during one of her previous escape attempts. The humans around the base were no match for her, so whenever she darted off, an Autobot had to race around for hours on end to recover her manually.

 _"Are we gonna have (static) to go get the net again?"_ Bumblebee asked Epps, the collywobbles creeping upon his spark at the thought.

Epps rubbed the back of his head with dismay. "Ugh, I hope not. 'Bee, I genuinely don't understand why you choose to put up with this girl. I mean, she's a looker and all, but I think we can both agree that she's a bit of a food-thieving bitch."

Bumblebee peevishly palpitated his engine. _"No, she's not._ _She's just misguided. I want to help her."_

"Yeah, but that's the thing—based on my observations, it doesn't look like she wants any help. The sole things I've seen her care about in all the months she's been here is food and that mystery man, Jett. She's like what? Twenty-two? Yellow, I just don't think that you can change someone who has been indoctrinated for who knows how long."

 _"You know what? You make a (static) strong argument, soldier."_

Epps sat up in Bumblebee's seat, a little bit surprised. "F-For real? Jesus, 'Bee, I thought you were gonna—"

 _"But I have to try. I can't leave this alone."_

Epps pitched back and chuckled at the mech's loftiness. "Aaaand here we go. There's the guy I know and love. But seriously, from one intelligent lifeform to another, I honestly can't see this working out how you're hoping it will. I don't want you to get your hopes up about this chick. Just because she's your responsibility now doesn't mean she'll be like Sam. Your spark might be in the right place, but I need you to be realistic."

 _"..."_

"Yellow?"

 _"..."_

Epps sighed. "Sorry—that was insensitive of me. I shouldn't have brought Sam's name into this."

 _"...No, I appreciate what you're getting at. But I just can't (static) leave her be (static) at this point. It's just how I am."_

Propping a dispirited hand up against his face, Epps sloped against the car window and stared out into the metal concrete jungle that encircled him. He knew that his words of concern were abortive, but Bumblebee was his friend, and he wanted to at least let him know how he felt about it all. In his eyes, Zero was an old dog. And as the famous saying goes, you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

As he swerved in and out of empty corridors and knocked over the occasional janitor's cart, Bumblebee kept an optic out for any innocent, jay-walking personnel that were at risk of being plowed over, and Zero's heat-signature. And when she spontaneously stopped dead in her tracks, he was careful not to make too much noise as he transformed. Running after her was always exhausting, but catching her was always a completely different can of worms because she was so adept at evading Cybertronian capture.

He and Epps crept around a corner and looked down the hall, and were surprised to behold the sight of Jolt, who had Zero cupped in his servos like a child would with a lightning bug.

"Yes! We didn't have to whip out the net!" Epps cheered.

Bumblebee broadcasted an array of exuberant beeps and chitters as he made his way towards Jolt.

"Unhand me, mechanoid!" Zero demanded, her voice muffled from the inside of Jolt's grasp.

"...Um, how do you purpose we do this little trade-off?" Jolt inquired dully, lowering his helm as he spoke. Zero was kicking and shuffling something fierce in his servos, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that once he opened them up, she would leap out and scurry away. He was lucky that he had caught her when he did—had he not noticed her speeding down the hall, she likely would've passed him by without making a single sound.

Bumblebee shook his helm back and forth, not knowing what to do either.

But fortunately, Epps had a thought. "How about we just keep her impeded in Jolt's hold, trudge her down to 'Bee's quarters, and then let her run loose there? That way, she won't jump out and run off again," he said.

 _"Fine by me."_

"...Whatever."

"Manumit my appendage-built supermax this instant!"

 _"Not on your life, (static) sweetheart."_

On that sour note, the group walked down the hallways in relative quietude.

Once they got to Bumblebee's quarters and entered the space, Bumblebee offered Jolt a crooked, radio-cracked "Thank you" for intercepting Zero in his place.

Merely shaking his helm, the laconic Prussian blue Autobot exited the bedraggled space with silent expedition. If he had gained anything at all from this irregular situation, it was that Bumblebee seriously needed to clean his room more often. Wall-to-wall were posters pasted on top of posters, comic books stacked into mountains, stray vintage rock CDs, a few action figures, a random wire pile, and a jumbled mess of old Godzilla and western flicks.

To the mainstream normie, Bumblebee's little mech cave was an outsider's dream—a haven of sorts.

But Jolt wasn't an outsider, and if he was going to be completely straightforward, he found his youngest comrade's obsession with human entertainment to be rather Poindextery.

* * *

After a prolonged talking to by Bumblebee, an uninterested response from Zero, and a querulous whinny from a donut-deprived Epps, the trio went about their separate business in debatable peace.

The next day, upon awakening from recharge, Bumblebee was unsurprised to find that Zero was already wide awake. With freshly fluffed pigtails and a particularly hebetated look on her face, he knew that she was ready to begin what she saw as another worthless day at NEST.

"Autobot, I possess a relevant grievance that is in dire need of vocalization," she said, stone-cold and a little callous.

If Bumblebee could've, he would've sobbed. Whenever it came to Zero, there was always a problem. Whether or not she verbalized her issues made no difference; she would still let him find out one way or another either through her endeavors or body language. _"You're gonna start this early?"_ he replied. He wasn't entirely out of recharge, so his systems were still rather slow.

Zero glowered at him in disgust. "Alien, I have endured this indecency long enough. This room is abominable. As your current and very reluctant roommate, I demand that you do something to remedy this hazardous situation."

 _"...Yup,"_ he slurred, tilting his helm away from her. _"...That's cool."_

Zero crossed her arms, less than unhappy with his flippant reverberation. "Autobot," she said, kneeling in front of his weary face, poking his cheek with her hand. "It is time to awaken. We have urgent matters to discuss."

 _"H-Hey, stop it. That tickles."_

Zero poked his face a little harder but then bit the inside of her cheek. The Autobot still wouldn't budge, so she instead stood up and analyzed her unkempt surroundings with a demeaning, nauseated gaze. She glanced to the comic book mountain, and her eyes trailed upwards as she tried and failed to calculate its width and height. Too many jagged ends stuck out haphazardly for her to arrive at a safe conclusion.

Zero went about walking past the widespread chaos but stopped dead in her tracks when she caught a glimpse of a familiar, bonny face on a band poster. There was a man right at the front; a few other unknown faces followed him, and they were all encompassed within a frame of printed barbed wire. She eyeballed the leader with a sense of hope but slumped when she realized that the person in the image wasn't Jett.

 _But how?_ she wondered, disappointment rattling her being.

The man's hair was shaved in the same stylish manner; his body was coated top to bottom with violent, draconian tattoos, and his face was as exciting and full of life as her partner's. But upon further inspection, she saw that a couple of things were amiss. The tattoos were all wrong—there were no dragons, images of hellish warfare, or mind-altering quotes; rather, the symbols drawn on this impertinent man were primarily ghouls and roses. He also didn't have one singular lobe piercing but several industrial barbells drilled into the cartilage of his ears. His face—although astoundingly similar—possessed slight jags and curves that weren't quite right. And that wasn't even mentioning the mole he had above his right eyebrow, which was undoubtedly a trait that her partner did not boast.

Zero stepped away from the poster despondently and silently reprimanded herself for acting the way she was. What did it matter if the man in the picture wasn't Jett? What difference would it have made if, veritably, it was him?

She skulked back over to Bumblebee and merely sunk to his side and waited. There was no point in trying to escape; it was impossible. NEST was an American military bureau, which meant that there was no feasible way she could have made it out by her lonesome unless she wanted to be shocked or loaded with bullet holes. So, with nothing else to do, she started flicking at her collar mindlessly. And as she did so, she didn't notice the repetitious clicking sound that it made whenever she snapped at it with her fingers.

 ** _Click! Click! Click!_**

Bumblebee flinched his antennas. Frag, that noise was annoying. Zero always had to do the most, didn't she?

 ** _Click! Click! Click!_**

Okay, scratch that. That noise was _really_ annoying.

 ** _Click! Click! Click!_**

Any moment now, she'll stop.

 ** _Click! Click! Click!_**

 _"Ughh! Fine! Fine! I'll get up!"_ Bumblebee complained. _"What good is some extra sleep, anyway?"_

"Sarcasm noted, but I never said anything."

 _"You didn't have to._ _Just stop (static) making that horrible noise."_ Bumblebee covered his audio receptors to illustrate dramatic effect better, then slid up on his berth and provided Zero with a half-repressed smirtle. _"You're way too schedule-oriented."_

"This is a military base. Without efficiency, there is no progress. Without progress, there is nothing at all."

 _"I think you should chill out. There's nothing wrong (static) with taking a rest."_

Zero hugged her knees and stared at the floor. "I disagree. Organization is vital to any functional mechanism. Lateness is inexcusable. A day of inefficiency is no day at all; it is merely stagnation into the vacuity of nothingness."

 _"See? This is what I mean. You need to relax."_

At that, Zero's face contorted into perfect stone, which made Bumblebee a bit nervous. She didn't look mad per se, but she just looked ominous—creepy. He didn't like it and realized that he must have said something wrong.

"How can I relax when I am held in the clutches of a NEST prison? Autobot, my job is to track and eradicate rogue Cybertronians," she said, working herself up with each syllable she vocalized. "Based on my extensive knowledge and research into your species' time on Earth, I am more than well aware of what kind of threat your people pose to the planet. The Earth was nearly destroyed three times over by you aliens, and in the past, your Prime led Sentinal Prime here willingly. The catastrophic damage and the gratuitous death that ensued is something that can never be forgotten. When constantly placed in the presence of war-hardened, human-detesting Brobdingnagians, enlighten me as to how one would go about relaxing in such conditions."

Woah, that was a lot.

Bumblebee slunk down to the floor. It looked to him like she was still a bit off from yesterday. _"You're a fish out of water_ — _I understand. But you're mistaken about (static) Prime. He (static) never meant for any of that to happen, and_ — _"_

"Excuses," Zero said coldly. "I truly fail to comprehend how you Autobots can justify a slaughtering of such a massive scale. 'He didn't know any better' is not an excuse I will tolerate. A leader is always to remain circumspect and five-steps ahead of their situation. The loss of three-thousand human lives is no minor mistake that is to be brushed off. And on top of that, Megatron still lives. Why?"

Bumblebee moved his lip-plates to speak but snapped them shut when Zero raised her hand, signaling that he was to remain silent. Her question was purely rhetorical.

"Incompetence. He lives on because of incompetence. I will admit that my kind accepted an involuntary hand in his resurrection, so we must assume responsibility as well. But you Autobots have contended with him for eons, yet still, there is no victor. It is like I said during the meeting. Perhaps because you have lived for so long, you have lost proper sentiment of what it means to be alive. Maybe that is why you aliens brush off the Chicago massacre as though it were yesterday's garbage. In the optics of many of your people, humans are mere 'fleshies' to be stomped upon once they become a minor inconvenience, after all."

Not good. The situation was escalating, and Bumblebee felt stung. Zero was getting intense, and he couldn't understand what he'd done to cause it. _"You've got it all wrong!_ _"_

"Then refute my claim. Explain to me where my line of reason falters."

 _"Fine."_ He retracted his robot body and materialized his holoform, readily preparing his argument as it took shape. Zero wanted a debate? Well, now she was going to get one. He would win; he was sure of it.

"For starters," he said in his normal voice, "Prime was raised by Sentinal. He was like a father to him. Under no circumstances whatsoever could he have possessed a reason to believe that his mentor would side with Megatron. Sentinal was an Autobot. Prime would never intentionally ally himself with someone who he thought wasn't an ally. He couldn't have known what Sentinal was planning if he had received no prior insight into his true character."

Zero was still blank. It was apparent that she wasn't very impressed with his defense. "As I said, leaders should always remain ahead of traditional awareness. If I am not mistaken, Megatron was like a sibling to the Prime before their political falling-out. With that in mind, your leader should have considered the possibility of another familial betrayal occurring. It is not as though he had never experienced such in the past."

Bumblebee angrily jammed his hands in his pockets and said, "That's hardly fair. Prime never had any reason to distrust Sentinal, whereas when Megatron betrayed him, he knew it was coming. The verbal hostilities were bound to come to a head and turn physical eventually. Before Chicago, Prime never had any negative discourse with Sentinal. His betrayal couldn't have been predicted. It was completely random!"

"Life is never upright. Not for you, not for me, and most definitely not for the citizens of Chicago. Whatever justification you may have for the Prime's actions in that situation is moot, because, in the end, incompetence and irreversible negligence were at hand. That is my final piece on the matter."

"Whatever," Bumblebee practically huffed, offended and heated. "But how dare you suggest that a majority of the Autobots see you humans as 'fleshies'. That is all Decepticon territory."

"Then explain High Tide."

"Look—I'll be the first to admit that not all of the Autobots are gung-ho about Earth being their new home, but that doesn't matter. As racist as he may be, I know he wouldn't ever hurt a human, because that is what it means to be an Autobot. Even though some may have their own distasteful opinions, it is our duty to protect this planet for as long as it remains. And we will because that is what Prime ordered us to do. I know Prime, and like myself, know that he loves this world and its natives. Zero, I don't know what kind of life you have been living up until now, but—"

"Stop talking. I care not for your platitudes. My life has nothing to do with this conversation," Zero interjected.

"Seeing as you're a human, I'd say that it does!" Bumblebee shot back.

"Yes, but no. That is not entirely correct. I am a biorobot—a hybrid. I am diff—" Zero suddenly stopped herself and covered her mouth, horrified, and took off in the direction of the restroom.

Startled, Bumblebee reached out to grab her wrist, but his fingers fell short. He tumbled over but ended up catching a faint glimpse of her as she slammed the door behind her. All sorts of emotions were pooling in his processor, and he instinctively rubbed his noggin as he sat up and continued forth to the restroom.

"What in the _Pit_ is wrong now, Zero?" he said, raising his voice a bit. He was so beyond fed-up and sick of her evasions. She had just spilled all that stuff about Prime to him, and now she was running away? He wasn't having any of it. He was going to finish this conversation if it was the last thing he did, so he banged on the door and waited impatiently.

Nothing.

"Answer me, Zero!"

"Eschew, Autobot. I will not speak anymore. I have said too much already."

That just fueled Bumblebee's temper even further. "What are you even talking about? I swear, everything you do makes no fragging sense. Get out here right now!"

Zero mumbled something unintelligible through the door.

"What in the name of Primus?" Bumblebee whispered, now growing a bit concerned. Softening his tone, he said, "Zero, please just open the door."

Nothing.

Bumblebee loudly clicked his teeth and began stropping away, signifying his resignation from the situation.

Zero heard this and—as meek as a mouse—creaked the door open and said, "So...I talked. Autobot, give me some forewarning—what is going to become of me?"

Befuddled, Bumblebee stopped and stared at her. At this point, his processor was in outer space, traveling at lightspeed into the habitat of nothingness that cushioned the stars. Deadpan, he said, "Uh, yeah, you talked. I can't say I've enjoyed our little chat, but the real question is why are you acting like this? What is the fragging matter with you?"

"I-I confessed the name of my kind. I _talked._ I betrayed Jett. I failed the Director. I'm a—" Zero crumpled to the floor, and Bumblebee drew back, flabbergasted beyond all imagination.

Seriously? _That_ was what rustled her jimmies? Goddamn it.

"H-Hey, stop that," he forced out, unsure as to how he was supposed to go about succoring the woman. "Talk to me," he commanded as he shook her shoulders. "Zero! Zero!"

"My partner..."

"What was that?"

"You sounded exactly like my partner just now. He would constantly yell out my designation..." She lifted her hand and bit her thumbnail. "...I can't believe I failed Jett."

"Pigtails?"

"No, that isn't valid. Jett never calls me Pigtails—only Angel. I don't understand why, but that's what he does."

Bumblebee didn't know how to respond. She was glitching worse than he had ever seen before throughout the entirety of their time together. "Look, listen to me. You said that they called you a biorobot at the Cemetery Wind base? So what? Everyone here already knows that you aren't completely human. Why are you freaking out on me?"

"Because I gave out information. I made a mistake. I'm not allowed to make mistakes, Autobot."

"But you did and now you feel like you've betrayed your comrade—this Jett guy."

"I was ordered to never reveal even the most negligible fraction of Cemetery Wind data."

"Zero, I don't think that what you just said is a big deal. I mean, NEST is on your company's tail right now, so this is all information that probably would've been exposed. In plus, that subordinate of yours, Franz Lebowski? Yeah, he spilled quite bit of tea on the human-mechanization drug lab thing you've all got going on over there, so I don't think your leader or your partner would care. Right now, I imagine they have greater fish to fry."

Zero clung to Bumblebee's shirt, hopeful, and said, "I'm not a failure, then?"

Bumblebee glanced back and forth, hunting for an escape. She was close to him, and the sight of her troubled face so close up snatched his breath away. "No, you aren't," were the only words that crossed his processor.

Releasing his shirt, Zero relaxed and placed a dainty hand on her forehead. "I feel dizzy," she murmured. "Autobot, why do our interactions always cause my head to spin?"

Once again, Bumblebee struggled to come up with an answer. But yikes, what a roller-coaster. And all of it started because he refused to get up on time. Unreal.

"Do you want to stick around here? I can't skip out on training today, so I'd rather not take you with me if you're feeling unwell," he said.

Zero squinted her eyes, flinching as her brain suddenly pounded deep within her skull. "...Fine. I concede. But once you return, you _will_ clean this room."

Bumblebee groused childishly. Of course, even after everything they had just talked about, she couldn't let that one go. "We'll see," he replied without severity. "I don't get what the problem is, though."

"That seems like an established trend," Zero jested dryly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Bumblebee retracted his holoform, and his optics beamed into the space around him as they flickered online. He forged towards the door and stepped out of the room, losing himself in thought for a second.

Zero was nothing like Sam Witwicky, and he knew that, despite what Epps presumed.


	13. Snarls, Bars, and VRs

"Sit still for a second!"

"Ouch! I can't! You're being too forceful!"

Bumblebee scratched his holoformed cheek timorously. "Sorry. I'm trying to be as gentle as I can, but this spot is just awful," he said. "Maybe you should give the fluffy pigtails a rest for once. Constantly teasing the underneath of your hair can't be good for it."

"Rubbish," Zero said as she irreverently crossed her arms. "I think my hairstyle is perfectly satisfactory. This is a setback that is merely par for the course when you are in my shoes. Under traditional circumstances, I wouldn't be suffering from these problems. When I am stationed at Cemetery Wind, the Director makes sure that I cannot perceive anything at all within the realm of pain."

Bumblebee ran the brush through the snarl again, and Zero winced as it pulled at her scalp painfully.

Bumblebee saw this and meekly set the offending hairbrush down at his side. "Maybe we should give this a rest for a while. I don't want to hurt you."

Zero rubbed the side of her sore head in concession. "For once, it seems like we can agree on something. But there's one more thing I would like to try." She sat up from her spot in front of her keeper and set off towards the restroom. She wanted to properly inspect her keratin pogrom a bit further before she had to leave.

"Hey, hold on a click," Bumblebee said, automatically reaching for her wrist. "Where are you running off to all of a sudden?"

Zero gestured towards the sequestered doorway, silently answering his query.

Bumblebee rested a finger against his temple. "Femme, we've talked about this."

"..."

"Zero?"

"..."

"Pigtails?"

 **"..."**

Bumblebee had to stop himself from chuckling when Zero instinctively recoiled at the affectionate nickname and willed her face to remain stern and intimidating. She was beginning to fall back into her original routine of restraining her voice, and it was starting to concern him. The last thing he wanted was to have to drill words out of her, but he was frightened that if she stopped talking to him, then he wouldn't be able to get through to her like he wanted.

Zero bit down on her tongue, trying to keep herself from verbally objecting to the affronting moniker. She still felt somewhat defiant and didn't want to give the alien what he wanted.

"Angel?"

Okay, nevermind.

Zero covered her now blushing cheeks as she vainly attempted to hide the palpable sense of embarrassment that overtook her psyche. "H-H-Huh?!" she stammered. "Autobot, you don't get to christen me as such! Nobody does! H-How dare you?"

Bingo.

Bumblebee smiled a smile so broad and so jaunty that it would have caused the Cheshire cat to go mad with jealousy. "But I thought you said that Jett guy calls you Angel. Why can't I? As the humans say, if the shoe fits~"

"And what is that supposed to mean?! How is anything other than Zero or Zero-X a befitting designation for me? Tsk, what nonsense. Autobot, your games are nothing short of goading."

Bumblebee sniggered blithely and spun around wryly. He loved getting Zero riled up, mainly because she was always so soul-destroyingly emotionless when left in her indigenous state of being. Watching her face go sanguine with chagrin was something that always gave him a good snort, and it made him feel like he was getting somewhere with her.

Aggrieved, Zero puffed out her cheeks like a hamster. "Pesky Autobot. I don't like nicknames, and for your information, I never did permit Jett to refer to me as such, so I demand that you stop copying him. I find any deviation apart from Zero to be both appalling and incredibly bothersome. Is that understood?"

Bumblebee blinked innocently and then proceeded to carefully observe the woman for a breem as she looked down at the floor and then back up at him again, fidgeting and twirling her hair in discomfort, impatiently waiting for an answer. He found her behavior rather heart-warming, and took it upon himself to wrap his arms around her in an all-encompassing bear hug, tittering gleefully in bon mot mirthfulness when she squeaked in surprise.

"Just what do you think you're doing? Release me right now!" Zero protested, squirming and flailing for release.

"D'aww, but I can't!" Bumblebee said as he smooshed his face against her's. "You're just the cutest human I have ever seen! I mean, how is this even possible?"

"I am not cute, and I am no teddy bear! I am your detainee and an established combatant to the NEST syndicate! Autobot, I demand that you halt your heterodox affectionism this instant. I was never taught how to handle such unselective endearment!"

Bumblebee's mouth quirked into a grin, and after he gave her a good ruffle on the head and a kittenish pat on the back, he reluctantly turned his red-faced yardbird loose.

As Zero scampered off in the direction of the restroom entrance, she made sure she gave him a sheepish frown before shutting the door on the imbroglio entirely.

She snatched some conditioner and gently squeezed its contents into the palm of her hand. And with a resounding squirt that echoed across the scant room, she undertook the arduous task of rubbing the oily substance into the painful snarl that resided on the side of her head.

 _How dare that Autobot patronize me?_ she thought, feeling rather bothered. _I am an inmate here, not a benefactress._

While strenuously kneading the tangle, she eyed her reflection in the à la mode mirror that sat elegantly before her. Her face was still rather rosy from the whole debacle, and she grew incensed at the sight.

"I do not enjoy this," she whinged. "This emotion—'bashfulness'? Horrible. Absolutely irritating. Prior to my entrapment here, I never once experienced this issue. I only ever deciphered it as a concept, and honestly, I would be more than happy to return to that state of being any day of the week. If this is what non-mechanized humans and robot aliens feel on the average quotidian, then I pity them all. What horrendous chemicals to be plagued with."

She stormily ran her nimble fingers through the remaining strands of her knotty hair, finally detangling it, and then turned on the water and began washing the conditioner out. Taking everything into account, the continuous process seized a good eight minutes of her remaining free time, so when she detected the sound of light footsteps from outside the room, she wasn't all that shocked.

"Knock-knock," Bumblebee said as he creaked open the door, hesitantly peeking inside. "Are you almost done yet? I know we have a few more minutes, but it's a moderately long walk to the human medical wing. Do you think you could speed it up?"

Zero wrung the water out from her hair and then turned to Bumblebee with an unusual amount of extempore. "I think it's unreasonable that you can't simply drive me there today. Must the NEST cleaning staff be so incompetent?"

"Woah, don't blame them. It's not their fault that the twins' little paint prank went to hell and back." Bumblebee smirked and tugged at his collar in entertained exasperation. "Those two are idiots. I swear, for as long as I've known them, they've never been able to learn from their mistakes. You know, Arcee warned them that the balloons wouldn't be able to handle that kind of weight, but of course, they didn't listen. Every so often, I wonder how those two made it past sparklinghood."

"Hm... Autobot, there's something I have been mystified about for quite some time now..."

Bumblebee pitched his head up, suddenly compelled. It wasn't often that Zero asked him questions. Even though she would never answer the questions he offered her, he was always happy to acknowledge her whenever she sought him out for anything. The look of languid curiosity she provided him whenever she possessed something on her mind made him happy, mainly because it was a deviation from her bland normalcy. Like with her shyness, he welcomed anything other than her typical robotic visage, as it inspired him to keep on trying.

"Shoot," he said casually, giving her the go-ahead.

Flicking a stray water droplet from her cheek, she asked, "What does 'sparklinghood' constitute towards, anyway? Also, while we are on the subject, what exactly does it mean to be a youngling to you Cybertronians? I've heard the other Autobots on the base refer to you as such, and I can't quite wrap my head around the total number of Earth years such a blanket statement would equate to. Without a frame of reference to work with, time and time again, I have failed to come up with a definitive mathematical conclusion that would determine the exact age of you aliens. Particularly you, Autobot."

Bumblebee took a fleeting second to process the entirety of Zero's sentence with a luminous blink. It was kind of funny because when she wanted to, she could talk for miles. "Well, for starters, if I had to compare being a sparkling to anything human-related, I'd say it's sort of like being a toddler," he said, relaxing against the doorframe. "And translating youngling age to human age is a bit more difficult because it's like a range. A mech or femme becomes a youngling when, say, they turn around ten in human years. It sort of lasts until they hit around twenty-five."

"I see. So what does that make you, Autobot? It is a well-established fact that you are the youngest alien stationed at this coalition."

"Mhm. Yeah, I am. But wait—what does that make me?"

Zero studied Bumblebee as he carefully considered the question. Every time she looked at his holoformed face, she couldn't help but revel at the sight in complete and utter fascination. The realism and attention to detail the fake portrayed was truly something out of this world. The technology behind holoforms must have been something the Director had his eye on. If she ever found herself in such a high-ranking position, she would make obtaining it her top priority. Decoding such groundbreaking technology would make fighting future wars much safer and less deadly for humans.

Pounding his fist in his hand, Bumblebee said, "Twenty-three! I'm twenty-three in Earth time."

Zero slung the towel on the sink and reached for a comb. Brushing her hair one last time, she made sure her appearance was in order. "Very interesting," she said. "So that makes you a year older than myself. But I guess that technically isn't correct. Based on the other Autobots' comparisons of the average youngling age to that of the entire lifespan of the human race, I think it is rational for me to conclude that you have existed for roughly two-thousand combined human life-cycles. Average lifespans vary depending on which region of the world one resides in, but in the United States, seventy-eight is frequently considered to represent the most established point at which someone's life ends. And since first world nations act as signifiers for the unified world's future state of being, I don't believe it is unreasonable for me to utilize that estimate to determine the whole of your continuous epoch."

"Woah, impressive," said Bumblebee. "I'm surprised you were able to come to that conclusion so quickly. It usually takes humans a pretty good while to figure out complicated math like that."

"True, but my people possess extraordinary abilities that are simply locked within the depths of their cerebral gray matter. For example, Jason Padgett. He was once an ordinary man, but after he was physically assaulted outside of a bar, he began seeing the world in pixilated, geometric shapes and obtained a sudden ability to draw complex fractals. Before this happened, he was just a generic jock who never made it past pre-algebra."

Bumblebee was going to comment on that, but when he looked to the circadian clock on the wall and saw the time, he instead said, "As much as I'd love to continue this little chat with you, Zero, I'm afraid we gotta move. You know how Vale gets when I don't have you in on time. And today you're going to test out that simulation thing, right?"

"Yes, although I do not want to," Zero responded tersely. "That man bothers me. The last time we were late, he restricted my lollipop consumption from three to only one. _One._ Truly abhorrent. Such an unforgivable act can never be forgotten."

"Yeah, yeah." Bumblebee disappeared his holoform in a cerulean torrent, and once he transformed, he squandered no time in getting up and standing next to his semi-organic counterpart.

Zero reached out her arms and waited expectantly for him to try picking her up. But when he didn't do this, she grew mildly annoyed. "Autobot, what are you waiting for? My lollipops are at stake!"

Bumblebee raised his doorwings and merrily offered Zero a welcoming servo. _"Well, I'm just astonished (static) that you're actually (static) willing to let me (static) carry you this once."_

"I simply want my candy. Let us commence," she mandated, pointing forward dramaturgically.

 _"Are you actually (static) a five-year-old?"_

"Hmph. You can't eat, so you will never understand the wonders of sugary delights."

 _"Whatever you say, weirdo."_

* * *

 ** _Elsewhere..._**

* * *

It was pouring rain outside, the air reeked of smog, and the grungy city streets were packed to the brim with reluctant passersby and grimy homeless people.

In addition to all of that loveliness, it wasn't the gentle sauna-esque rain that made the overall experience less miserable, but it was the Antarctican-type that made one's teeth chatter at the simple thought of it.

Shivering, Jett reached a hand into his trench coat pocket, desperately in search of a cigarette. "What the hell?" he said, unable to find his pack. He turned both of his pockets inside out and scrunched his nose when he came up with nothing but dryer lint and a few bits of old tissue paper.

He made sure he gave his past self the finger for forgetting his cigs as he spat into the street gutter beside him, ultimately resuming his journey thereafter. He was currently in the heart of one of the more unpleasant sections of New York City, and he wanted to get out of there as fast as he could. With every twist and turn, he felt as though he was being stalked from behind, so he made sure to check the reflection of his dead phone screen every so often just to stay on the safe side.

Passing a vandalized stop sign, he walked a bit further until he reached a mucky, decrepit alleyway, which was inauspiciously surrounded by a few stray drug stores and a closed ramen shop. Scowling into the darkness before him, he mentally braced himself for what was to come. Taking a reluctant yet emphatic step forward, he began his harrowing trek towards the bitter end.

He accidentally nudged a stray beer can with his boot and was horrified when a massive rat skittered out from what used to be its hiding place. Jumping back, he braced his arms in front of him as it darted towards an old, steaming sewer drain, flailing its tiny legs as it got stuck for a moment, squeaking and hissing with each jerk and pull until it finally wriggled free of his sight and disappeared into the tenebrous darkness.

 _...That was fucking disgusting,_ he thought, more than a little appalled. _Now I'm going to have to kill the bastard just for living here._

He marched up to a sleazy maroon door, gave the metal a sloggish knock, ogled the seedy eyehole above him, and reflexively cringed when he heard a faint shuffling on the opposite end, but received no answer.

"Hey! It's Jett!" he shouted, banging on the door. "Get your ass out here!"

The eyehole slid open, and Jett frowned as a coiling, shrewd set of hazel orbs stared back at him.

"Oh, it's you, Sterling," a man's voice said superciliously. "Sorry, mate. I'm closed."

"I don't care, now open up. I'm freezing my dick off out here, and you wouldn't believe the fucking rat I just saw. That thing was so big it could pass for some teenybopper's purse dog."

The shady figure seemed amused by this comment and shut his left eye in mock consideration. "Hmm...nah. With that attitude, you can fuck right off. See ya~" He lentously slid the cavity shut, which happened to nettle Jett exponentially.

"Open the goddamned door, Niko! I don't have any time for your stupid games! I have serious business to discuss!"

Cracking the door open with a childish mutter, the man known as Niko let himself be revealed. Jett looked him up and down and raised his brows in surprise when he saw how astoundingly cleaned up the younger guy appeared.

Niko saw his surprise and said, "Go fuck yourself, Jett. And get in here. It really is freezing outside."

Jett happily obliged and went inside the dimly-lit space, wasting no time in propping himself up on a nearby barstool.

Niko clicked on an expensive-looking lamp and stood across from Jett in the bartender's spot. "Soooo...it's been a while," he said straightforwardly. "Go figure your still as much of a cunt as you were last year. Same never changed. Can't even knock properly?"

Jett laughed and ebulliently took it upon himself to rest his feet up on the counter. "And you still have the attitude of an edgy fifteen-year-old. Bud, maybe you should lay off the cocaine for a bit. You might be able to salvage whatever remaining brain cells you have left."

"Jackass."

"Shithead."

"Goatfucker."

"Cock-knocker."

"Faggatron."

"Okay, this is never going to end."

Niko smiled smugly. "But I won. Heh, I always win when it comes to swearing matches."

"Whatever. Hey, do you have any cigarettes? I forgot mine, and I'm tweaking something fierce right now."

"Yeah, I've got some, but I doubt you'll like 'em. Do you still smoke the minty shit that makes my nose bleed?"

"Menthol? Yeah."

"Blech."

Jett shrugged, dismissing his friend's complaint. "To each their own. What other kind do you have?"

"Ahh, just the usual Marlboro fuckery. I don't get you smoker-types. I say you should either go big or go home. I've always got a block in the back if you're willing to de-pussify yourself one of these days."

Jett threw his head back and guffawed. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to pass on that offer. Unlike you, I think I'd rather stick with the non-brain-melting crap."

"Heh, your loss," Niko said with a haughty, sharp-toothed grin. "It's not like I'm dealing krokodil back there. My stuff is some fine grade shit. Some guys would shoot me in the face to get their hands on my stocks."

Jett rolled his eyes with disinterest. He was clearly tired of all the drug talk. "Can you just go and snag me a cigarette already?"

Niko gave Jett a chesty thumbs-down and meandered into the depths of his insalubrious living-space. And when he got back, he threw a pack at him with the expert aim of a baseball star, nipping him in the cheek.

In response to the attack, Jett just said, "See, this is why nobody loves you, Nikolai."

Niko, in all of his remorseless glory, fished out a flask of half-drunken liquor from behind his bar counter and responded with a curt, "Bite me."

Jett lit the end of his cigarette and welcomed the smoke into his lungs like a person would their long-lost sibling, temporarily losing himself in the soothing haze that bristled over his synapses.

"Jett," Niko said, cutting to the chase, "at the door, you said you were here for business."

"Sadly, yes."

"What kind of business?"

"Serious business. I need help."

"Go on…"

Jett slid his feet off of the counter and cupped his hands in front of him and closed his eyes. "Y'know my partner? The prototype biorobot? Well, she was captured by NEST, and she's been gone for eons now. The other Xs aren't interested in finding her because the Director can't be bothered to muster up a fuck to give, but the thing is, I want to get her back."

"But _why_?" Niko asked in a flinty, accusing tone. "The big, bad boss gave you his verdict, so why bother? Who even gives a shit?"

Without missing a beat, Jett said, "I give a shit. She's in danger, but nobody except for me seems to give a good goddamn. At Cemetery Wind, we humans are always supposed to look after each other. But apparently because Zero's got some transformium in her, that makes her some kind of ignominy. Well, I call horseshit. I've been partnered up with her for two long years now, and I know that—"

Niko rose his hands in surrender. "Woah, easy there, Jett. I didn't mean to ruffle your feathers, but I'm gonna need you to get real for a second. You know that the Xs are supposed to be disposable—they're the first generation of biorobotic hybrids, for Christ's sakes. And that's not even mentioning the fact that, combined, they have about as much personality as a fucking cashew. I say good riddance."

"You—"

"Don't you think that you're a bit too old to be playing with dolls? Just let it go. The Director said what he said, and that's final. Trust me; once the bastard decides on something, he can't be bothered to rethink the finer details. Why do you think I bowed out? Cemetery Wind just isn't what it used to be. It's a waste of time and effort—a lost cause."

"It's not a lost cause!"

Niko reeled back from the deafening mewl. "Jett—"

"You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know Angel, but I do."

"Ah, so you gave it a pet name."

"Ass. She's not an _'it.'_ She's a she."

"You're losing your edge, Jett. You weren't supposed to get attached."

"Well, I did, and I'm glad that it happened."

Uncomfortable, Niko took it upon himself to take a stress-filled swig from his liquor flask. But when some of the aged booze got caught in his wind-pipe, he fell into a boutade of manic coughs.

Jett sneered. "See? Just look at you, Nik. You're a fucking disaster. You were once a proud agent of Cemetery Wind, but now you're just a cancerous skin tag that refuses to scab off. What do you even have to lose by assisting me? Your shitty bar? Your trash doobie collection? You're pathetic, dude."

"Screw you—talking all high and mighty and shit. Well, guess what, Jett? Unlike you, at least I'm not delusional. I know that Cemetery Wind is flying deeper into the shitter as the Director's brain shrinks and he willingly lets those psychotic biorobots run amock. And I know that getting your little dolly back is pointless. All you'd be doing is igniting an unwinnable war with NEST and the Autobots. Do you really want to fuck with those kinds of people, Jett? Do you seriously want to dive headfirst into the beehive?"

"Yes," Jett replied, his voice unwavering and perfervid. "If it means saving an innocent girl from whatever hell they're subjecting her to, then yes, I'll do whatever it takes because unlike you, I have morals."

Niko sighed aggressively. "You're crazy. You've finally lost it."

"No, I haven't. Listen, I didn't come all the way here just to argue with you. Please, for the love of Christ, just help me. Zero—well, she's special to me. I can't get her back on my own. But with your organizational skills, I would at least stand a fighting chance at saving her."

"..."

"Niko?"

Niko threw his arms up in the air as he liberated a long, unmuffled groan. "Ughhh, fucking fine! You want to haul us both down to the guillotine? Then present me with an offer I can't refuse."

Jett's mouth hung open in disbelief. "You're serious? You'll help me get Angel back?"

"Not so fast, loverboy. Don't think I'm willing to do this for free. Quid pro quo, Jett. Quid pro quo."

Jett gave an understanding nod and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out his checkbook, but then he bestowed his ethically squalid compatriot with a hangdog look when he realized that he didn't have a writing utensil.

Niko wordlessly acknowledged this and ducked behind his counter, withdrew a pen, and stiffly delivered it to Jett.

Jett filled out the check and then transferred it to Niko with a determined look in his eyes.

"Holy shit!" Niko shouted.

Jett smiled widely. Niko was a natural-born penny-pincher. He could never turn an offer like this down.

"Oh my god… What the fuck kind of salary is the Director shelling out to you, Jett?"

"Enough to make this happen," Jett replied as he snatched away the check from his soon-to-be partner in crime. "But you aren't getting a dime of it until we get Angel back, safe and sound."

"Are you serious right now? Fucking extortionist. Who the hell can turn down that kind of cash!?"

"Only a dipshit, but you aren't a dipshit, Niko. Also, you asked me to give you an offer you couldn't refuse. That's why you are going to pull every string in your arsenal of connections to get me what I need."

Niko's greedy eyes followed the check's every slight movement as Jett seductively flapped it back and forth in his hand. The unreasonable amount of coke he could buy with all that dough was enough to fill his entire bar several times over.

"What's the final answer, bud? Assist me and get rich, or stay broke in this disgusting, rat-filled alleyway where you'll overdose with no one to help you?" Jett asked, a sinister grin plastered across his usually sprightly mien.

Niko clenched his razor-edged teeth, angrily conceding defeat. "You drive a hard bargain. You win, Jett. We've got a deal. I'll fucking help you."

* * *

"Do you really want to observe this? I would advise against it, particularly because it's not necessary for you to do so," Vale said pragmatically, peering over to Bumblebee as he sifted through some sensitive documents.

"Yes. I want to make sure everything goes alright."

Vale fixed his spectacles and straightened the deck of papers that sat in front of him. "So be it. Just make sure you don't get in the way. Ah, and I guess I should tell you that Braginsky is going to be attending this little gathering, and he's still pretty rabid over the meeting incident since he's been stuck in a wheelchair. Oh, and before I forget, the techno-organic is going to be dropping her buprenorphine prescription soon, so her overall medicinal intake will be reduced by quite a bit. It's a splendid thing, too, since she seems to be handling the withdrawals much better these days."

"Yeah, sure. You know, doc, I have a question I'd like to ask."

"Go right ahead."

"Well, since I don't know much of anything about human medical science, I was just wondering if it's possible that whatever your treating Zero with might be making her hungrier?"

"Hungrier?" Vale brayed. "No, that has exclusively to do with her mechanization. What we've discovered is that her legs require a significant amount of thermodynamic energy to function properly. To spare you and myself a lengthy, boring explanation, I'll just give you this: calories are a form of heat measurement, hence the more calories she consumes, the more efficient her mechanical configuration operates. Does that make sense?"

Bumblebee nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Good, because I have to get to the simulation room. We've only got fifteen some-odd minutes to get this over with, and then Braginsky is going to have to get wheeled back to his bed. Adios."

"Later."

Bumblebee furtively watched Vale as he precipitously slipped out the door in roguish cynicism. The way the CMO acted towards him was usually pretty cordial and pleasant, but he couldn't ever forget what had happened between them the first time Zero had been placed in his care. Had he not been present, he was sure that Vale would have used his scalpel to dissect her without a single care in the world.

Sitting up from his seat, Bumblebee promptly walked out the overhead door. Vale was quite a ways ahead of him, but he didn't care. His only concern was Zero and her well-being. He was scared that Braginksy would try to shock her as revenge for beating the tar out of him.

 _No,_ Bumblebee thought, trying to stamp out his fears. _If that jerk even so much as twitches in the direction of that remote, I'm going to stop him. I won't screw this up. I'm sick of humans getting hurt because I can't do what needs to be done when the situation calls for it. I have to be like Optimus, wherever he is right now…_

Setting off down the hall, he fused his fingers into steely clamps, reckless and determined.

Zero wasn't going to get hurt again.

Not on his watch.

* * *

After Braginsky was wheeled in by his entourage, Bumblebee maintained a keen eye on Zero as she fiddled with her uniform.

"Alright. Now that we have those details in order, we can begin the test. You there," Vale said, waving to a female maintenance worker who was docked at the control panel. "Let's get this show on the road."

The rationale of the test was to go over Zero's strengths. Because it was to take place inside of a holographic VR chamber, she wasn't at any real risk of being harmed, even though it did simulate pain. Initially developed in Griffon Rock by Dr. Ezra Greene, the primary goal of the machination in its infant stages was to act as a prototype for future virtual interactive consoles. However, after the mad engineer Thaddeus Morocco infected it with a virus and nearly killed Blades and Cody Burns, it was determined that it was too volatile to be of any civilian worth, and NEST later seized it and made adequate use of it during training contrivances after its coding was reconfigured.

Braginsky examined the dark tank but drew back when the screen before him suddenly flashed online, boasting detailed visuals of a virtualized Zero, who was jumping and clawing at distempered walls in search of an escape.

Vale licked his lips raptly. Without question, this session was going to yield some wonderfully pleasing results. He would make sure of it. "This is your directive, subject," he said into a microphone, referring to Zero. "Escape each disordered room we provide you and utilize any in-game items to whatever means you see fit. Should you complete this task under ten minutes, then you will be rewarded with my entire bowl of lollipops. Is that clear?"

Braginsky raised a grizzled eyebrow in an evident 'what the fuck?' kind of way.

With a soft chuckle, Vale soberly said, "She likes candy. There's nothing wrong with a good motivator, right?"

And with that, the session commenced.

Zero completed each task that was assigned to her with both extraordinary tact and superhuman efficiency. And once she reached the items' stage, she instantly picked out two weapons—a flight pack and a bazooka—which made Bumblebee go obdurate. Working in tandem with the weapons, she completed the remaining stages even faster than she had hitherto.

"Unbelievable," Braginsky muttered confoundedly.

Bumblebee couldn't disagree—this was remarkable. _What kind of world would Earth be if all humans were like this?_ he thought in awe.

Finally, after she eliminated each level with flying colors, Zero arrived at the boss stage.

The virtual area shifted to a blank, white room. There were no doors, weapons, walls, or even a floor for that matter. Everything that had previously encompassed the virtual techno-organic was nowhere in sight, and even though she was confused, she stood bold, waiting for her challenger to emerge.

Like Zero, Bumblebee was equally confused and asked, "Hey, is there something wrong?"

"I only have a few more minutes left to spare. Hurry it up," Braginsky said to Vale, ignoring Bumblebee.

"Oh, I know. Off I go, then," Vale excitedly replied. He nearly galloped over to the player-two modules, clicked the pain-meter up to regular, and vanished within the enclosed chamber, materializing in front of Zero a few seconds later.

"Hello," he said to her kindly.

"... _You_ are my foe in this battle?" Zero asked, incredulous. "How absurd. I will not quarrel with you, even if this entire scenario is fabricated."

"Haha! No. We won't be fighting. All I ask is that you incapacitate me."

"What the hell?" mumbled Braginsky. This was getting bizarre.

"That doesn't make any sense," Zero said succinctly. "I have had enough of these divertissements. Let me loose this instant."

"Ah, ah, ah," Vale chided, wiggling his finger at her. "Incapacitate me and get this over with. It's not like it matters if you injure me, because none of this is real. Don't you want your lollipops?"

"Do not chastise me, NEST physician. I am no child."

"Just do as I ask. This is necessary for my research."

Zero ran her hands through her pixilated hair in defeat. "Fine—I will do as you say. But you best be prepared for what I'm about to do to you."

Bumblebee flew back in his seat as Zero rammed her knee right into Vale's gut.

Over and over, she drove it into his stomach, and with each hit, simulated blood angrily sputtered out from his crooked mouth, staining the surrounding virtual perimeter.

When she finally stopped her round-off on Vale, he collapsed like a dried-out leaf and held his sides, gasping as if he was on the verge of death.

"Why aren't you incapacitated yet?" Zero asked him unnecessarily.

There was a hollow look in her eyes, and Bumblebee stared on in horror as she hoisted the man up from his feet and reeled her fist back unsparingly, counting to herself with dispassion as she did so.

"One."

 _ **SMACK!**_

"Two."

 _ **CRUNCH!**_

"Three."

 _ **CRACK!**_

"Four."

 ** _SPLAT!_**

"Five."

 _ **K.O. PLAYER ONE WINS!**_

Even though it was just VR, Vale was unrecognizable, and Bumblebee nearly decolorized at the sight.

"Oh my god!" one of the surrounding officials shouted frantically.

Vale shakily clambered out of the player-two module he was situated in. Although he was completely unharmed, his previously dark face was a ghastly white, and sweat dripped from his forehead as he gasped for relief. "Test…concluded," he said between breaths.

Unsettled, Bumblebee turned to Vale and said, "What in the Allspark is this? What the frag is wrong with you?!"

Vale wiped his forehead off with his sleeve. " _Research._ "

Braginsky scowled. "Chief Medical Officer Rhett Vale, that was _highly_ unnecessary and unprofessional. We could have gotten a proxy."

"Excuse my rudeness, but no, I had to experience it for myself, sir," Vale sputtered out. "At least we now know what kind of damage one of those things can do to an unarmed human."

Bumblebee widened his eyes, and a sickening feeling washed over him. "Where's Zero?"

"She's still in the tank," said Braginsky. "I've seen enough for today. Vale, I'm assigning you to attend in-house counseling. No normal human being would have subjected themselves to something like that. And you, Autobot, will retrieve the subject and lock it back up in your quarters." He motioned to his entourage, and one of the shady individuals grabbed his wheelchair's back handles and subsequently escorted him out. Vale was also seized and eagerly shooed the direction of Division-9: the psychiatric-ward.

As this all happened, Zero stepped out of the player-one module casually, going unnoticed by everyone except for Bumblebee.

Bumblebee looked away, disturbed. He was still reeling from the gory sight he had just borne witness to.

Zero pressed her lips firmly together. Her keeper was exhibiting strange behavior, and it made her feel off. "Autobot?"

Bumblebee fidgeted. "...You're pretty strong, huh?"

"I'm a biorobot. No biorobot lacks strength."

"You tore his face to shreds…"

"He gave me no other option. What else could I have done?"

Bumblebee fell silent again, and Zero carefully observed his facial expressions as they switched from sad, to scared, to nervous. "It was merely a simulation," she continued. "And I am under strict orders to inflict no substantial harm onto the non-mechanized. My sole job is to eradicate Cybertronians. I only assaulted the man because he provided me with no other alternative. Now...could you cease making those faces?"

Bumblebee found himself staring directly into the petite femme's eyes. There was a ray of concern in them, and he relaxed at the anomalous visual. "I understand—I was just a little surprised is all," he said as he went up to her. "Let's head back to my room and play some video games or something."

"Wait," Zero commanded sternly, looking back and forth. "Where are the lollipops?"

Bumblebee slackened his posture and grumbled, now completely relaxed. "No. We're leaving."

"But the lollipops! I was promised the whole bowl!"

"Nein."

"But—"

"Nope."

"Gah! Pesky Autobot!"

Bumblebee smiled. "Weird human."

* * *

 _ **A/N: To those who do not know, Thaddeus Morocco is the antagonist of the Rescue Bots show, and Cody Burns is the protagonist. This will likely be the last time I reference any episodes or characters from that particular series.**_


	14. New Developments

"Aww! Please, Major? We wanna go!"

"Yeah! This is so unfair! You never assign us to any of the first-rate jobs! What's the deal wit' dat?"

"Because," said Lennox, "the last time I gave you two a scouting mission, you both just went sightseeing around New York City! And that's not even mentioning the whole shitstorm with the eggs you stole."

"Pfft, those were our eggs, and you know it," Skids replied. "We got those fair and square. It's not our fault dat human guy went skitzo after we claimed our rightful prize."

"Yeah!" Mudflap aided with confidence. "The handwritten sign read dat it was all you can eat."

"But you don't even eat!" Lennox griped, wroth and fed-up. "And why the heck would two Autobots need eggs? Do you idiots even realize how much paperwork I had to do after that? I even had to shell out cash from my own pocket just to cover the damages caused by your sorry asses! You're both seriously fortunate that I was there. Had I not been, I imagine that the two of you would be pushing up lugnuts in the brig right about now."

Mudflap relinquished an infantile cry from his dirt-caked aperture, harking back to his last time in the brig. No Autobot liked the brig, mainly because it was small, cramped, and dark. It grimly resembled a Kaon hoosegow chamber, and nobody, whether they be Autobot or Decepticon, ever wanted that experience.

"But Major, we've been doin' nothin' but good 'round here since then!" said Skids. "Hell, we even cleaned up most of the paint from the—"

"Oh, the paint." Lennox sloped against the Command Center podium, now irate. "Between all the other bullshit you two get into on the daily, I almost forgot about the whole paint fiasco."

Mudflap glared at Skids and harshly nudged him the side for bringing it up. "Slag it, ugly! Why'd you have to mention the paint!?"

Striking his brother back even harder, Skids said, "Ugly? We're twins, dumbass! And how was I supposed to know he was still mad 'bout dat?"

"Alright, both of you, shut up," Lennox ordered. "I already said that you two weren't going anywhere, so why don't you just head back down to the Autobot lounge and do whatever it is that you do?"

"Major, you gotta let us go on this mission! You just gotta!" Mudflap begged.

"And why is that?"

"The femmes! We have to accompany the femmes, of course!"

"Yuh-huh," Skids said forcefully, bobbing his helm up and down. "What kind of mechs would we be if we let the femmes scout the city for Decepticons by their lonesome? Everyone knows dat femmes don't have as much armor as mechs, so we gotta be there in case somethin' terrible happens!"

"Sure," Lennox replied with an unmistakable touch of sarcasm, clearly not buying the excuse he'd just been presented with. "That's why I've witnessed a plethora of them kick both of your afts with about as much ease as a five-year-old blowing on a feather."

"Hey, those were isolated incidents!" Skids snapped back. "Listen, Major, how'd you feel if you had the opportunity to hang out wit' a bunch of femmes? It'd be pretty great, right? You have to give us a chance."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"Pretty please wit' a—"

"I said no, damn it!"

"Ughhh! Major, we'll do anythin'!"

"No! All you two would do is get in the femmes' way. I don't need or want you harassing them with whatever Cybertronian words that you regularly use to piss them off."

"But—"

"NO!"

Picking up a private document and marching out of the Command Center, Lennox left the crestfallen duo by their lonesome in an oppressive silence.

Regarding his doltish twin with a sincere look of sadness in his optics, Skids wasted no time slinking to the floor and pouting. "This is so stupid. I jus' wanted to talk to the pretty femmes…"

Mudflap sat next to his brother, copying his bovine expression. "Same, Skids. Who in the Pit does Lennox think he is, keepin' us from the femmes and all? Does he even know how rare femmes are these days? Geez, the war back home practically killed every last one of 'em, and now there are only mechs! I mean, to each their own, but mechs aren't really my cube of Energon."

Skids patted his brother on the shoulder in deep-rooted solicitude. "I feel ya, bro. But… I think Lennox might've had a point 'bout the femmes not likin' us too much…"

Mudflap flinched away from Skids. "Whaddya mean? Femmes love us! Haven't you ever seen those human Reddit posts? According to them, femmes like bad mechs. They're jus' playin' hard to get is all."

"Ehh, you sure 'bout dat? One time I told Windblade dat she had some nice valves, and she jus' ended up kickin' me right in the tailpipe..."

"Yeah, but she was jus' bein' a…" Mudflap trailed off and shifted his optics back and forth, scatterbrained. He was trying to remember a particular human term he'd read about online, but as luck would have it, the word just wasn't coming to him.

"Jus' bein' a what? A bitch? 'Cause dat hurt, ya know!"

"No, not a bitch," Mudflap said almost dreamily, tapping his digits against the floor as he thought even harder. Then, out of the blue, he snapped his deft fingers with a resounding, "Hah!"

"What? What was she bein'?" Skids inquired with a dash of diplomatic intrigue.

"A tsundere! She was bein' a tsundere, what with her kickin' you in the tailpipe and all."

"Really? So you think dat Windblade actually likes me? She's gotta be the prettiest femme on base."

"Maybe not completely, but a little. In anime, tsunderes always be beating the slag outta their love interests."

"Oh! Okay, I think I get it now," Skids said understandingly. "But I dunno if I wanna get hit every time I say somethin' to her, ya know? Since dat all went down, I've been kinda afraid of Windblade. She constantly gives me the side-eye, and sometimes it freaks me out."

"Pfft, if you don't want her then I'll take her. It's not like you're completely out of options, considerin' Earth is crawling wit' its own femmes."

"Mudflap, that's it!" Skids hurrahed. "Pocket femmes! Dat's where it's at!"

"Pocket femmes?"

"Yeah, pocket femmes. Do you know how Earth femmes are all so tiny? Well, dat might not be so inconvenient after all. Any time you want to see a femme, just reach behind your back and wham!" Skids sufficiently emphasized, wiggling his fingers in the air. "There's your femme; all day, every day."

Mudflap was astounded. "…You're a genius, Skids! Wow, how'd I never think of dat?"

"Genius like mine only comes every once in a red giant, so I'm not surprised dat you couldn't think of it."

"But wait, Skids, where exactly would we get a pocket femme? Earth may be crawlin' wit' 'em, but there are hardly any around the NEST-HQ."

Cupping his lower faceplates with his servo, Skids hunched back and pondered his sibling's question with utmost care. In spite of how painfully stupid Mudflap was on the average diurnal, just this once did he propound a legitimate question. Where would they get a pocket femme? And on top of that, how could they guarantee that their pocket femme wouldn't freak out like Windblade?

Skids turned away from his brother, still thinking, and was surprised when he saw the Major General return from whence he came.

"Hey, I thought I told you two to go and screw around in the lounge," said Lennox. "The war room isn't a play area."

"M-Major," Mudflap said with a faltered intonation.

"I don't want to hear another word about you two and the femmes. I said no, and that's final."

"It's okay, Major. We've got another idea," Skids gloated with glorious triumph, placing his servos on his hips in an overtly histrionic manner.

Lennox bit his tongue with worry. The twins and ideas were things that never meshed well together, and he didn't want another humanitarian disaster on his hands. However, if he went about inquiring what they were up to in the wrong way, then they'd shut down on him. Wanting to coax their plot out of them without much trouble, he purposely relaxed and gave them a faux smile. For the present, he would play along with whatever senseless antics they had up their sleeves. "Oh? That's neat."

"You betcha, Major! I can't wait to find some pocket femmes!"

M'kay, forget coaxing the plot out of them.

"Pocket femmes?" Lennox asked warily, growing uneasy. Somehow, he just knew that this was bad. "And what the heck are those?"

"Those are Earth femmes. A much better name for 'em, if I may say. I came up wit' it myself," Skids answered, confidently pointing to his chassis as he did so.

"...Skids, Mudflap, no. Just no. If I catch either of you annoying our female staff, then we're going to have some major problems."

Skids suddenly felt his spark chamber tighten. "But—"

"No!"

"Please—"

Lennox stormily poked Skids in the pede. "Absolutely not. You two are going to go down to the lounge, and you are going to stay there. If I catch or even so much as hear a light murmur that you were bothering any girls, human or Cybertronian, then you two are going straight to the brig! Do you understand me?!"

Both twins winced from the harsh scolding and fell silent, a little bit stunned.

"Well, what are you waiting for?! Get down there! That's an order!"

With that, Skids and Mudflap quickly decided to make like a tree and leave, stumbling over one another as they ran down the halls.

Skids ducked his helm and shouted, "Fraggin' slagger!"

"I know! For such a tiny guy, he really is scary!" Mudflap replied with equal intensity.

"Not that, stupid! He says we can't go on missions, see the femmes, or even talk to the pocket femmes! This is such bullslag!"

"I hear ya, but what can we do? Lennox and dat Braginsky cuck run everythin' 'round here. I don't wanna go to the brig, Skids…"

Skids screeched to a halt, and Mudflap stumbled a couple of feet in front of him before coming to a wobbly stop. "Hey, what gives!?"

Skids grabbed Mudflap's helm and forced him to look into his optics. "I jus' thought of somethin' is what gives!"

"Here we go again..."

"'Flap, jus' hear me out. Maybe we should make a stand. It's unfair dat two little humans be runnin' everythin' 'round here when the war is our fight! Who do they think they are, tellin' us what kind of femmes we can or can't talk to?"

Mudflap presented Skids with a skeptical look. "But Lennox said dat if we disobey him, then we'll be tossed in the—"

"Forget the brig, 'Flap! I'm talkin' about doin' what's right! This is for the greater good!"

"Then what will we do?"

Skids hunched his arm over his brother's shoulders. "I'll tell ya what we'll do. Ya see, it sort of goes like this…"

* * *

Bumblebee smiled wistfully to himself as he sat atop the overhanging roof of the NEST base, stroking Zero's back as her lush hair swept in tandem with the cool evening breeze.

She had fallen asleep whilst sitting on his shoulder and had made a comfortable haven for herself in the crook of his neck. He had developed a bit of a habit out of bringing her up to sit with him every once and a while, as he figured that being stuck indoors all the time couldn't have been good for her mental health.

A good breather is a universal need for all sentient lifeforms, no matter how big or small they may or may not be.

Bumblebee flicked on his radio and shut his optics as a familiar song began to play. He recognized the sublime melody to be that of _Sitting, Waiting, Wishing_ , by Jack Johnson—a singer who seemed to fall out of mainstream popularity by the early 2010s. It was a semi-depressing verity, but he appreciated his songs, mainly because they contained so much emotion and emphasized on the wonders the wholesome things in life brought.

As he continued caressing Zero with the tenderness of silk, Bumblebee analyzed her with a smidgen of mute curiosity.

She was truly nothing like Sam Witwicky.

Though Sam had always been gregarious and companionable—cheerful and full of childish mischief—Zero possessed none of those distinctive qualities. She was secretive and soft-spoken—severe and intense. And though she may have been mischievous and quirky at times, unlike Sam, it was all completely unintentional. Yet, despite how bleak and dull she may have always been, it was every so often that Bumblebee caught a spontaneous glimpse of a spark inside of her. Whether it be with his teasing and her shyness, or his civil conversations with her on philosophical topics, he was gradually learning which buttons to push in order to unlock that modicum of humanity locked within her.

Bumblebee opened his optics again. The iridescent clouds in the ethereal sky shifted, causing the radiant sun to glint right onto Zero, making her moan in discomfort like a perturbed kitten.

He chirped in contentment. It was small moments like this with her that he felt all of the continual trouble was worth it. It had taken several months, but now she trusted him enough to ride on his shoulder. And although she was still a little iffy about being carried, it was a matter that was being eased as each day came to pass. They were cautiously approaching the seven-month mark of her being held at NEST, and he felt like the progress they made was continually growing. He understood that he could never replace Sam with Zero, but he felt confident that he possessed the power within himself to do something to turn her devotional life around.

Cemetery Wind affronted him with what they had done, and it was in these moments of blissful silence that Bumblebee wondered what Zero's life had been like over there. She still refused to relinquish her real name to him, and the NEST information brokers still were unable to unearth just who she was or where she had assuredly come from. But aside from that, he also wondered who this 'Jett' person was. He knew that Jett was Zero's partner—she had stated it herself several times in the past—but he still couldn't help but theorize what kind of man he was, because what type of person would willingly stand with an illegal company that presumably took in humans and churned them out like mindless androids?

On the very few occasions when Zero didn't just make a brief reference to Jett, Bumblebee was careful to observe her blood pressure and heart rate. His logic for investigating this was so he could confirm if she was being held against her volition by way of nervousness or fear, but the results he garnered were routinely quite the opposite.

Zero seemed to like this Jett guy, but Bumblebee was still a skeptic, through and through. She had been indoctrinated, so even if she spoke about Jett with respect and even a hint of enthusiastic admiration, she was an unreliable source because her participatory worldview had been skewed by whoever had managed her at Cemetery Wind.

Another critical thing that baffled Bumblebee was her age. It was a well-established fact that Zero was twenty-two, yet he found himself doubting even that much, considering her contrarian tendencies. If she was twenty-two, then did that mean that Cemetery Wind had just been lurking in the shadows with nobody noticing for nearly two deca-cycles? He didn't think so; there was just no way they could have gone undetected by NEST for so long. There was something off about the timeline, and it meant that Zero had either been born and raised inside of a Cemetery Wind facility, or she was withholding something about how long she had actually been a so-called biorobot.

Zero was shifty and extremely difficult to understand, which frustrated the mech because he knew his goals were lofty, yet he couldn't just bequeath them. Despite all of the issues she may have caused him, he would have been a liar if he said that he didn't like his little charge. He wouldn't have taken up the task of guarding her if he didn't.

Filtering his air-vents, Bumblebee glanced aloft and beamed yet again. Although it wasn't transparent to the average passerby, she did contain bits and pieces of what could be considered a personality. She was the poster child for civic patriotism, as she clearly had a lot of love for the human race. Whenever he asked her about human matters, she was always eager to spill some random history facet pertaining to the subject at hand. And there was her food obsession, too. She was a voracious eater and always seemed to relish in every meal she consumed, which never failed to give him a hearty chuckle. She also hated bizarre things—little things—such as nicknames, big spoons, old western shows, unshined boots, and so forth.

But there were still a few things that he was having trouble wrapping his helm around—like how she would sometimes act sympathetic towards him, or how, on occasion, she would let him rub her back. She wasn't an affectionate human to even the tiniest degree, yet on some quiet days (much like this one) she would let him give her a good back rub without any complaints whatsoever. She would often get embarrassed and shun him on other memorable junctures, but because it was so sporadic and randomly timed, he never really knew what to expect with each passing solar-cycle.

As previously mentioned, whether or not she intentionally like to be, Zero was, in many instances, a contrarian. And though he desperately wanted not to be, Bumblebee was always a little bit suspicious of the secretive little lady. That's just what their arrangement called for. He was her keeper, and she was an inmate.

But conveniently forgetting that unpleasant reality, he resolutely closed his optics, still stroking his unusual companion as she slept peacefully beside him.

The blanket of recharge had already been creeping upon him, and her tranquil expression was the final nail in the coffin before he finally drifted off into the realm of oblivion.

* * *

Jett stood akimbo, repeatedly checking his wristwatch, waiting for relief.

Niko was bitching and whining again, and he wouldn't put a cork in it.

"No fucking way! There's no fucking way I'm working with that she-demon!" Niko squalled, his voice loaded to the brim with venom. "Jett, do you even know what kind of chemical frog-fuckings I've had to go through in order to get away from _her_? Why can't we just go get someone else? I know plenty of other people who can do this job!"

Jett exhaled, and the attractive red-haired woman across the communal room unleashed a throng of high-handed giggles. "Because, babycakes," she pilloried with faux sweetness, "I'm the best person there is for this kind of job. This situation interests me, and since there's a nice reward involved, who was I to say no?"

"Son of a bitch," Niko harangued, now projecting his vitriol at Jett. "So you showed her the big bucks too, ey? Prick. Slippery, slimy cunt." Turning to the woman, he said, "Yeah, and I bet that _you_ probably smelled the money from a thousand miles away, you fucking Jew shark."

"Ooh, testy," she said mockingly, wiggling her jeweled finger as she tilted her luscious lips into a wry, ominous smile. "Tell me, dear, was that supposed to be anti-Semitic or sexist?"

"Whatever pisses you off more."

Jett braced his hands against the pensive air. "Alright, alright. Niko, shut up. Jeanette, don't antagonize him. With that coke brain of his, I wouldn't be surprised if he forgot how to breathe one of these days."

Jeanette's shapely face seemed to light up at this comment, and suddenly her gaze constricted. "You're still on the dope, Nikolai? Ha! Ah, well, I guess I can't say I'm all that surprised since you're still as dreadful as you were when I ghosted your pathetic ass."

Niko belly-laughed. "Ghosted my ass? Good one, sugar-tits, but not good enough. I would have bounded out of that fucking apartment faster than the speed of sound if you hadn't stolen half of my goddamned belongings. You even took my dog! My _fucking_ dog! How high on the sociopathic spectrum do you have to be to even think about doing something like that?"

"Woah," Jett said, looking to Jeanette. "Deadass? You took the dog after the breakup?"

"And that isn't even the half of it!" Niko shrieked.

"Oh, go choke on a dick, Nikolai," Jeanette fired back. "As if you ever even took care of it. All you were ever concerned about was going to the local strip club and hitting lines! I swear to god, being with you was the biggest wake-up call of my life. I feel bad for your father—what a waste of a good sperm cell. And while we're on that note, let me just say that you were always terrible in bed. Instead of feeling sensual and tingly, it felt useless, like those toxic scented trees in cars or registering to vote."

"Oookay, that's it! Break it up!" Jett boomed. "How about we all agree that both of you are pretty shit human beings and move on with the recruiting process? Niko, as much as you despise Jeanette, suck it up. I've seen her work first hand, which is why I took it upon myself to call her here. And Jeanette, could you at least try not to enact the Bitchening while I'm around? Everyone and their mother's inbred cousin knows that Niko suffers from a medical condition called total fucking stupidity, and as unfortunate as it is, I require him to get Angel back. He isn't completely useless."

"HEY!" Niko shouted, offended. "Says the one who has the hots for emotionless dolls! 'Look at me, I'm Jett, and I'm such a good guy!' Bitch, please. You're just a white knight piss-drinker. And I bet when you aren't doing that, you're bent over the Director's desk, taking it from the back, since you're so dedicated to his dying cause."

Jett visibly flared up at that remark, and his previously calm demeanor vanished almost instantaneously. He could handle Niko's usual hair-brained derisions against him and whoever else, but the second he brought Zero into the mix, he felt his rationale evaporate all at once. His intentions were only to get her back, but even though he'd made that perfectly clear, the scuzzball had the gall to not only keep calling her a doll but to imply that his motives were less than savory. He knew for sure that he had no romantic interest in his taciturn partner whatsoever. "Okay, that's it, you scrawny, shit-for-brains street-urchin!"

Niko smiled smugly and bounded towards Jett. "Bring it on, you lolicon-loving, shota-watching, cardboard cut-out worshipping faggot!"

"Jesus Christ, stop it!" Jeanette screamed as she stood reverently between the two hostile men. "Jett, you're a bastard. Niko, you're an even bigger bastard. Now knock it off!"

Acknowledging Jeanette's assertion, both men backed away from one another.

"Who does that asshat think he is, implying that I'm only doing this shit so I can get with Angel. I don't even like her that way," Jett snarked to Jeanette in a hushed tone.

"I understand, but look at me," Jeanette said in a kind, but stern voice. "Jett, I think the fact that you want to help that girl is noble, but Niko and I just don't mesh well. I'm down to put up with whatever bullshit he dishes out for the money, but one thing I definitely won't be doing is dividing you two up whenever he says something idiotic. Keep your eyes on the prize. You've got to get a grip on your emotions if you want to get the prototype back."

"...Okay. You're right, Jean. I'm sorry."

Jeanette flashed Jett a wink and turned to Niko, who was hurling daggers at the twain from the far side of the room. "Darling, you're coming with me," she said. "'Cause, believe it or not, I would rather not witness Jett beat the shit out of you. It would be such an unfair fight that it'd be sad."

Niko started backing away slowly. "H-Hey, you stay the hell away from me, you contaminated fuck! I don't want to catch super-AIDS!"

Jeanette expertly snatched Niko's arm and tangled it within her own. "Must you be such a raging twat? Quit acting like a baby. You're coming with me whether you like it or not."

Jeanette dragged Niko out of the room, and once he was sure that the two were far down the hallway, Jett instinctively reached for a cigarette.

Niko was a dickhead; that was just a fact of existence. But he was a necessary evil to have around, as he was once an expert computer-tech who traced Autobot and Decepticon Energon trails for Cemetery Wind. And his plethora of gang and military connections were beyond important for getting Zero back, as with enough cash, they could be paid to never say a word should the details get out.

Jeanette was also greatly needed for the potential backup plan Jett had thought out in case something went awry. Like Niko, before quitting Cemetery Wind, her place in the agency was equally as impressive. She was a master of disguise, possessed excellent social skills, and also had an alluring aura about her that made her easy to talk to, which made her perfect should any direct contact with any NEST officials be necessary.

Jett was fully aware that getting her involved was likely going to be problematic in the grand scheme of things, but because he knew her personally and she had her own vendettas against the Autobots and the Decepticons and took a mild interest in the X-Battalion, he could be faithful that her motivations weren't entirely monetary.

* * *

When Bumblebee awoke from recharge, the first thing he noticed was Zero, who was still sleeping soundly in the crook of his neck.

He carefully sat up and cupped his servo around her sleeping form as he brought himself to his knees and then to his pedes. Raising his doorwings, he merrily whirred his air-vents as he trudged forward quietly, his target being the nearby stairwell.

When he began walking down the spiraling vortex of metal and wood, Zero mumbled and shifted whenever he took a particularly loud step. Since he didn't want to wake her, he took his time getting back down to the main floor and gave her a soft pet whenever she seemed as though she was about to wake up.

His main goal at the moment was to chill out in the Autobot lounge and have a relaxing cube of high-grade while he kicked back and relaxed. He knew that he could have done all of this in his room, but lately, he felt as though he was spending too much time in there, and thought a brief change of scenery was in order. Who knows, if he were lucky, maybe Strongarm or Drift would swing by for him to have a chat with. Maybe if Zero was somehow still asleep by then, he could at least take a short walk before heading back to his quarters.

After a few minutes, Bumblebee finally arrived at the NEST lobby's Autobot elevator and promptly went inside. Overall, the base was pretty idle at this time; the only people present were some humans manning the reception area. He made sure he gave the humans a convivial wave before the doors closed, and smiled when several of them waved back, all with friendly looks on their faces.

The elevator rumbled as it traveled between the divisions of the base. And when the doors opened, Bumblebee walked to the half-open lounge entryway without a single notion as to what was waiting for him. He tipped the door open further, and when he did, a bucket fell, landing on his helm with an intense splash.

Straight away, Zero shot up turgidly. "Autobot!" she screamed. She'd been completely drenched in freezing, cold water.

 _"What the_ —? _"_ Bumblebee said, his mind blank, and the bucket still over his helm.

"Urgh! Is this supposed to be another one of your annoying games?! I was sleeping! How dare you awaken me in such a horrible manner!"

 _"Woah!"_ Bumblebee pulled the bucket off his helm. _"I didn't do this! One of the other (static) Autobots (static) must have put it up there (static) for some_ _stupid prank."_

Zero didn't believe him, but when he threw the bucket off to the side, she eased her tensions. "What nonsense. This entire facility lacks even the most basic level of decency. Reform is in great need here," she said angrily.

 _"You know, I actually kind of agree (static) with that statement."_

Zero vetted the lounge for any signs of the mystery prankster, and stopped once she reached the television. "Autobot," she said, pointing. "What is that?"

Bumblebee followed the direction her little finger was pointing in and tapered when he spotted a massive, albeit terribly written note plastered across the blank screen. He marched past the lounge chair and stood before it, and Zero remained on his shoulders, placing her tiny hands against the side of his faceplates as they both read over the scraggly text.

 _Yo, Major_

 _You treat us like trash, and we ain't gon' stand for it any longer._

 _You keep us from the missions wit' all de cool stuff, the eggs,_

 _the pocket femmes, and the other femmes. This ain't no good._

 _So I and 'Flap do what we shoulda while ago._

 _Enjoy the water, you jerk._

 _Skids & 'Flap._

Bumblebee couldn't believe that the twins were so muttonheaded as to think that Lennox and only Lennox would be the one to walk in on their little bucket prank. _"They're so dumb that it hurts,"_ he said vacuously.

Zero merely scrutinized the poorly written vellum with aphonic satiation. "I concur that grainy utterance, Autobot. They were apparently so ruffled that in the second to last sentence they forgot to use their helping verbs."

Bumblebee snorted at that. _"Yep, can't forget those (static) helping verbs."_

"For some reason, I feel as though you are joking, but I cannot tell completely."

Bumblebee snorted again.

Zero innocently batted her lashes, a bit confused. "Autobot, I'm cold. And I need to change my uniform. Can we go back to your quarters for now? You can report this to your superiors later on, can you not?"

Bumblebee nodded and folded the note carefully in his hands; he would be sure to deliver it to Lennox once the opportunity presented itself to him.

He exited the lounge, and when he arrived back at his room, Zero instantly jumped off of his shoulders and started in the direction of her rickety dresser. Sliding the drawers open, she looked around in search of some fresh clothes. But when she realized that the ones that were already stuffed in there were still dirty, she grew irate and said, "Autobot! Where are my clean clothes?"

 _"What do you mean?"_ Bumblebee replied ambivalently. _"Aren't they in there?"_

"Autobot, everything is dirty. I told you to take my clothing down to get cleaned this morning!"

 _"Uhhh_ — _"_

"What, did you forget?" Zero paused and nibbled her index fingernail, thinking. "No, that couldn't be. You aliens are far too advanced. No advanced lifeform could be so insipid as to forget such a menial task."

 _"_ _Everyone forgets things (static) every once and a while. And you_ _(static)_ _forget things too!"_

"I forget things against my own volition. I never had such issues when I was stationed at Cemetery Wind."

 _"Yeah, you say that a lot, don't ya?"_

Zero placed a hand on her hip. "So, what now? I refuse to wear dirty clothes, and I most certainly won't continue to wear wet clothing."

Bumblebee thought about that, and then, like a lightbulb, an idea flashed within his processor. _"I bet that (static) Epps (static) has something."_

"The soldier? What could he possibly have that I could wear? I am far smaller than he is."

 _"Well, it's better than nothing at all, right?"_

"Hmm… Fine, I'll allow it."

 _"Whew."_

"But only for the rest of the day, understood? This will never happen again!"

Instead of saying anything coherent, Bumblebee merely warbled as he wandered away from the abraded techno-organic, dialing Epps through the comm-link.

Twenty minutes after the call took place, there was a knock, and Bumblebee switched to his holoform for quicker conversation.

"Yellow! Pigtails! I've got the goods," said Epps.

Bumblebee opened the door. "Hey, come on in."

Epps perambulated through the stretch and took no action to cover-up his sense of awe. Bumblebee's room was considerably more organized than it had been the last time he saw it.

Zero rushed up to Epps with extemporaneous vigor and wasted no time in snatching the clothes out from his hands and zipping through the restroom door.

Epps stuck a hand inside one of his camouflage pockets and whistled. "She could break the sound barrier with those speeds. She must love that bathroom."

Bumblebee chuckled. "Yeah, I call it her hidey-hole. Whenever she gets flustered, she always runs in there for cover. It's pretty funny."

"So... Skids and Mudflap struck again, eh?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Yikes, that's not good. Those two are already on thin ice as it is. I can't imagine the good ol' Major General will be happy to hear that they put the bucket up there for him specifically."

"You think they'll end back up in the brig?"

"Hah! Nah, I _know_ they'll end back up in the brig. Say, is there a reason why they are so, uhh—"

"We Autobots like to say they are special. Skids and Mudflap were sparked on an airship, and because the war was well underway, they never really got a proper education. I think it was because they were around drunken mechs all the time that they just lost their…"

"Give-a-fuckability?"

"That works."

Epps positioned himself so that he was standing partly outside the door. "I guess that answers one of my thousands of questions. Anyway, I should probably get back to my office. Paperwork has been through the roof lately."

"Catch you later, man. Thanks for the stuff, because you know how Zero can be when she's mad."

Before taking his leave, Epps raised his hand and waved at his friend from behind. "Good luck, bud. As long as she is your charge, I imagine you're gonna need it."

Bumblebee saw his friend off, closed the door, and then turned to the restroom entrance. Zero still hadn't come out. Curious as to what was taking her so long, he went to see if anything was wrong. "Yo, are the clothes alright?" he asked her through the door.

There was a sudden shuffling from within, and slowly, the door creaked open to reveal an extremely abashed Zero. "A-Autobot, I think we have a bit of a problem…" she said hesitantly.

"A problem? Is the uniform too big?"

"Yes, b-but that's not it. He didn't bring me a uniform. It's a turtleneck."

"A turtleneck? Okay, and...?"

"Well, that's it—a turtleneck. It's incredibly floppy, so it drops down to my knees like a dress, but—"

Bumblebee rolled his eyes. Zero and her complaining—he swore it would be the death of him. "I'll have your standard uniforms washed and dried by the morning. We don't have anything else. I'm sorry, but you'll just have to make do for the rest of the night."

Zero nervously checked behind her to make sure the dresslike shirt wasn't clinging to her undergarments, and then side-stepped back into the partially organized room. "You better get my uniforms washed, Autobot…"

"Don't worry; I will. And wow, that looks cute on you. I've never seen you in civilian clothes before."

"I knew you were going to say something like that. I am not cute, so don't even start."

Bumblebee began the motion of smiling his wide, Cheshire cat-esque smile, and Zero became frenzied at the sight. "No! No games, Autobot! I am tired of your lack of professionalism and your abundance of affectionism."

Bumblebee sunk his shoulders, but only in a joking manner. "Awww, but why?"

"You are too friendly, and I don't know how to deal with it," she kvetched, spinning away from him impertinently. "You are supposed to be my prison guard, but you act like some kind of friend. You talk to me strangely, and you show me your movies and TV shows. You joke around and tease like Jett, and you give me unbidden hugs and back rubs. You even help me with my hair troubles. I don't understand it at all."

Bumblebee's big smile faded at that. "But I don't want to treat you like a prisoner, Zero," he said quietly. "I know you won't believe me, but I want us to be on good terms. Like how you don't understand me, I don't understand you. I want to know why you are the way you are."

Zero dummied up at that declaration; she didn't know what to make of it.

As always, the way Bumblebee's face moved and his eyes flickered indicated that he was telling the truth. But the thing was, she was dying for an excuse to write his words off as lies. His entire existence presented a point of conflict for the phlegmatic agent, as just by interacting with him like this, she was violating one of the Director's rules. But unlike the Director, who was cold and stern, the mech was different. Like Jett, he was affectionate and kind.

Bumblebee, beneath the obnoxious badgering and the boyish joking, treated Zero well. There were many times when they had gotten into arguments with one another, yet still, despite making it clear that he disagreed with many of her beliefs, he continued to make an effort to listen to her words. He was a benevolent lifeform, which only served to confuse her, as the Director had always taught her that Cybertronians were dangerous and barbaric. But it was apparent to her now that his claim was incorrect, and that's what led her to this mental crossroads. If the Director was wrong about there being a benevolent Cybertronian, then what else could he have been wrong about?

"I am not... But I don't... And you are..." Zero knew she wasn't making any sense, but for the first time ever, she was lost for words. Her head wasn't spinning like it usually did when Bumblebee said bizarre things to her. Instead, she felt as though she was entering a new realm of understanding.

Bumblebee noticed this and switched to his bipedal mode and offered her a welcoming servo.

Zero fidgeted and mumbled at first, but eventually gave up and climbed in. "...But I never did anything to warrant this sense of wonderment from you," she said slowly. "In fact, in the past, I have mocked you. I am not kind to you, Autobot, so why do you insist on being kind to me?"

 _"Because I want to be. So I am."_

Zero was dumbstruck. Once again, his facial expressions indicated that there was no deceit in his words. The alien was telling the truth. He wasn't trying to inveigle her, and the Director was wrong. These were revelations that made her internally recoil. "...I think I believe you..." she said almost breathlessly.

Now it was Bumblebee's turn to be dumbstruck. _"Really? You believe me? I can't believe it!"_

"I can't believe it either, Autobot. It seems that I have been misled about some things. For that, well, I think I owe you an apology."

Bumblebee couldn't trust his audio receptors, so he tapped himself on the faceplate, wanting to make sure he wasn't suffering from some processor malfunction. Feeling the slight jab, he raised his doorwings with conviviality. This was real. Zero had actually just _apologized_ to him.

 _"Awww, (static) Pigtails!"_ he cheered, hugging her with exultant triumph.

Zero caviled at that. Taking the floppy turtleneck into her little fingers, she stuffed her red face inside of it to hide away from Bumblebee's beautifully radiant gaze.

 _"Nuh-uh,"_ he tutted, hoisting her into the air. _"This marks as a special moment."_

Like a terrapin emerging from its shell, Zero popped her head out of the turtleneck collar. And when she looked down, her cheeks grew so cochineal that she felt as though she was at risk for spontaneous human combustion. "P-P-Put me down, Autobot! My undergarments are s-showing!"

Bumblebee looked away from her delightfully rosy face and briefly went inert when he saw that Epps' turtleneck had gotten caught behind her back, and indeed, her underwear was showing. Gently putting her down, he offered her a sheepish _"Sorry,"_ before receiving a flurry of chagrined punches at the end of his palm.

"Stupid Autobot! You just love to bother me, don't you? Maybe I should take back my apology!"

 _"No!"_ he practically begged. _"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! Honest!"_

Zero harrumphed. "Let's just never speak of this again. And if I hear you say _anything_ to _anyone_ , then we will have a serious issue. Do you hear me?"

 _"Yes, sir!"_ Bumblebee answered in the voice of an old army sergeant.

Zero shook her head and said, "Good, and no more spontaneous hugs; is that clear?"

 _"Crystal."_

"Fantastic."

 _"But what about (static) the back rubs?"_

"What about the back rubs?"

 _"Do you want me to stop that too? Even though (static) you love it?"_

"I do not..."

 _"You do too,"_ Bumblebee teased with a cheesy grin. _"And don't say that you don't, because (static) I scan your brain activity (static) all the time."_

"Hmph. Don't you have anything better to do than scan me? Just go and watch one of those strange movies that you have in one of your many mountains."

 _"Only if you watch one with me."_

"Watch one with you?"

 _"Yeah, why not? We have the whole night."_

"Not the whole night. You still have to go wash my uniforms."

 _"Relax, I will! Just leave it all to me!"_

"Is that supposed to ease my doubts?"

 _"Tch, rude."_

"Just go retrieve whatever film it is that you would like to watch."

 _"Aye-aye, captain!"_

Zero tugged at her collar, not wanting to indulge Bumblebee in his nonsense.

But as she later curled up in his waiting lap, she felt a feeling she couldn't recall ever experiencing before. Little flutters made their way throughout her chest and into her throat, and contentness overwhelmed her.

It was problematic, but for some reason, this time she didn't really care.


	15. Where's Optimus?

Zero observed the debacle from the high-risen lacuna of rafters and wires with a soupçon of mottled intrigue.

This wasn't the first time she had accompanied Bumblebee to one of his symposiums, but this was the first time that he had gotten into a verbal altercation with one of his teammates. In total, there were about seven aliens present—Strongarm, Sideswipe, Drift, Hound, himself, Jolt, and Arcee. It hadn't taken the debatably diffident agent long to ascertain the names of the aliens stationed alongside her keeper, as he always seemed to enjoy talking in length about his phalanx and their ventures.

"No, you're not doing it right!" Hound vituperated, seizing a firm hold of Bumblebee's arm-cannon. "When you shoot, you always have to keep your stance steady. What, do you want some Decepticon getting the drop on ya?!"

 _"I know!"_ Bumblebee vexed, tearing his tawny wrist from the bigger mech's hold. _"I've been doing this for a long time now."_

"Could've fooled me with that shitty stance."

Strongarm turned away from Drift (who she was currently partnered with) and looked over at the sparring duo. "Hound, is that really necessary?" she said tiredly.

Zero reversed her previous fixation, unsurprised that Strongarm felt the need to intervene. Strongarm seemed to be the most responsible of the many Autobots she had come across. The boxy femme took her job seriously, and because of that, progress tended to be made. Zero liked that. In her eyes, NEST was in great need of some fixing. Their secondary orchestrator failed to act in both a masterly and emotionally neutral manner, their staff dawdled and partook in worthless bets once their shifts ended, and the aliens were left to do whatever it was that they saw fit when they weren't battling. She knew that the latter truth would have made Three-X become particularly disjointed, as he seemed to possess an intense level of Director-induced disdain for unbound Cybertronians.

Clinching his denta, Hound turned to Strongarm and provided her with an incredulous circulation of his optics. "Are you serious? It's completely necessary! Ever since the little scraplet took on the job of a correctional officer, he's barely been scraping by in training! Just because it's hushed at the moment doesn't mean that a Decepticon won't pop up soon. Keep in mind that Megatron is still runnin' loose, and those Cemetery Wind crazies could begin targeting us at any given moment."

Strongarm pursed her blue lip-plates and seemed to surrender for a brief moment. Zero observed her facial expressions as they stirred and clicked ever so slightly in private contemplation. Like humans, Autobots seemed to possess similar facial cues that determined things such as their mood, whether or not they were lying, and so forth. Zero frequently utilized her facial recognition techniques to descry Bumblebee whenever he expressed something particularly outrageous, and so far, her observations seemed to be rather astute. She could tell Strongarm was conflicted, but there was a hint of recognition and understanding in her plate movements that indicated a firm opinion was lurking beneath a seemingly uncertain veneer.

"You're almost right, Hound," said Strongarm. "I say almost right because not only is he looking after a dangerous prisoner daily, but you forget he's a youngling, and he is also—"

"Not another word, Strongarm. He's the leader of your team, so he has to be on his A-game at all times. Techno-organic watching or not, he's got a moral responsibility now that Prime is gone. And just because he is a youngling doesn't mean jack when people's lives are on the line."

Zero couldn't help but agree with the latter part of the rotund alien's proclamation but felt slightly needled by the "Techno-organic watching" part.

 _"Do you think I don't recognize that?_ _Ever since (static) Optimus Prime (static) went missing seven years_ ago, _I've been (static) working my ass off around here!"_

Zero leaned forward with lively interest. "So the Prime has been completely unaccounted for the last seven years now? Fascinating. NEST did a good job keeping that point of vital intel under wraps," she mumbled to herself.

Hound pulled out his Cybertronian exhaust cannula and took a long puff off of the tackle. "Too bad, so sad. Think you're the only one who's been busting their solenoids since Prime went missing? Heh, you should see the bullet trains. Midnight Express and the others have to haul tonnes worth of human weaponry by the hour, and do you see them complaining? No. Wedge and the build-team are continually pent up at different city-spots, refining the humans' vulnerable infrastructure without a single break, and the femmes are constantly out patrolling for Decepticons. Compared to some of the rest of us here, I'd say you're barely pulling your weight at all. Every other day, I walk in here and see Drift, Sideswipe, and Strongarm training away and improving their skills, all while you lollygag and do Primus knows what. It's time to grow up, kid. You're a leader now, so act like it."

Bumblebee raised his doorwings and marched straight up to Hound. But before he could declare anything, Strongarm, being the pacifist that she was, intervened yet again. "Okay, Hound, I think you've made your point. So, without further ado, how about we all calm down, relax, and get back to practice? All of us have our own responsibilities to be mindful of, including watching over potentially deadly prisoners." Looking up into the transom window, Strongarm locked optics with Zero for a brief moment, but then promptly looked away. "All that matters is that he is here now, right?"

Over by the far side of the room stood Arcee, who shook her rosé helm. "Defending the little beetle as always. Strongarm still seems pretty fond of Bumblebee. I think it's interesting that hasn't gone away yet," she commented to Jolt. "But If you ask me, I'd say Hound's right."

Divulging nothing, Jolt merely nodded in silent agreement.

Hound took another puff off of his apparatus and then carefully tucked it into the wiry filings of his mechanical beard. "Forget it. You younglings have helms as thick as a Dinobot's," he said angrily. "Just don't come crawling to me when the slag hits the fan one of these days, and your leader is runnin' around like a chicken with its head chopped off. Anyway, I'm gone. See you tomorrow, Bumblebee. Or maybe not. Yeah, probably not."

And with that, Hound trudged his way out the door, negative waves remaining behind him.

Bumblebee rumbled his engine, far from happy. What did Hound know? It wasn't his fault that High General Morshower and the upper-brass had sicced the job of leader onto him. _"What a jerk._ _He doesn't know anything at all."_

Sideswipe groaned. "Ughhh, screw all this stupid drama. Just hit me with your best shot, 'Bee."

Bumblebee twisted in the direction of the sleek red mech and begrudgingly lowered his antennas. He was cross and needed some relief, so he agreed and meandered over to the far side of the stretch.

But as the previously rigid atmosphere slackened and everyone went back to their previous routines, Zero stood upon the rise with a dash of rare enthusiasm.

Not only did she have a lot of questions, but she also possessed several ideas pertaining to the subject matter she had just been exposed to.

* * *

 _Paperwork. Oh god, the paperwork._

Lennox emancipated an audible whinny of exhaustion as he bounced his foot against the office floor in a timely rhythm. The amount of paperwork that had been assigned to him was unbelievable, and as he filled out each necessary detail, he harkened back to the ephemeral call he had made with his daughter, Annabelle. Yesterday, he was fortunate enough to have been granted permission by the upper-brass to place a monitored call out to his family. And during said call, he was able to catch up with Annabelle concerning her current gripes with college alongside his wife's newly mastered quiche recipe.

Lennox missed his family to the point of misery and wanted nothing more than to return home and see them again. According to his calendar, it had been a little over six months since he last visited. When his wife queried him on when he might be arriving back, he distinctively recalled the tinge of sadness that emitted from her voice when he told her that he didn't know.

Because he was the retainer of such a high-ranking position in the American military, he didn't get much time off to tend to family matters. In between drills, training, weapons testing, Autobot mishaps, rogue Decepticons that needed tracking, and criminal organizations, he was continually swamped with a ceaseless stream of work that never seemed to end.

Finishing his document off with a swift flick of his wrist, Lennox haphazardly heaped it on with the rest of the lamentable pile. And as he was irately reaching for another report, he froze when his boss casually entered his office without so much as a single knock.

"Lennox, how might all that desk-work be working out for you?" Bragisky asked with a sarcastic, but benign quip in his tone. It seemed today wasn't going to be one of _those_ days. Magnificent.

Without a word, Lennox slapped his pen onto the paper that lay before him.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Braginsky said wistfully.

Confused, Lennox said, "Wait, you're getting hammered with this too?"

Braginsky sat in the seat across from his subsidiary and winced slightly when a shot of pain siphoned up from his groin. Though he didn't have to get around in a wheelchair anymore, he was still suffering the repercussions of Zero's attack on him.

"Yeah," he said plainly. "Since I was held hostage on bedrest, all of it piled up. Morshower is having a seizure over in Deigo Garcia because there haven't been any Decepticon developments in the preceding six-to-seven months. Oh, and don't even get me started on the whole Lebowski situation."

Lennox perked his eyes up at his longtime boss, even more confused than before. "Lebowski situation? What do you mean?"

Braginsky propped his hand under his chin. "Wait, you don't know? Didn't my secretary offer you the report?"

"No."

Braginsky seethed. "Fucking hell—can't even deliver a report on time. I guess if you need something done right, you have to do it yourself."

"What happened?"

"Well, you know how we had the bastard shipped out to Morshower's after the whole Autobot questioning debacle with the Chief of Interrogation?"

"Yeah?"

"Within the last few months, let's just say that he began to exhibit some _erratic_ behavior."

"Like?"

"Like babbling to himself, rocking back and forth, and wiping shit all over the walls. Y'know, that fun stuff."

"Oh my god!"

Braginsky chuckled at that. "That's not even the beginning. He started thrashing all over the place and ended up assaulting another inmate during yard-time. Guy completely lost his marbles. Just last week the guards were making their usual rounds when they discovered him dead in his cell. Suicide. He crafted a shank using paper mache and some heavy-duty glue that he somehow smuggled in from the woodshop department. The official autopsy said that his cause of death was a puncture through frontal lobe and into his lower cerebrum. He ended up stabbing himself in the eye, and worse yet, there was sufficient proof that he'd been concealing the thing in his rectal cavity to prevent the guards from finding it during shakedowns. He didn't even wash it off before he did the deed."

"Wow. What the hell could have made him lose it like that? Wasn't he being treated for a mild drug addiction?"

"Sure was, but I don't know. The grimmest part, in my humble opinion, is that aside from the information he divulged to us a few months ago, he never once squawked to Morshower. We still haven't been effective in figuring out the little shit's real name. And this 'Nikolai Borscheman' that he mentioned to us—no trace. It's like these people don't even exist."

"Still nothing on the Borscheman guy?" Lennox asked with mild irritation. "It was because Lebowski brought up that name that we went after Cemetery Wind back in late October. He said that he had a decent hand in the organization's functionality."

"Yeah, but we instead end up with that psycho bitch of a techno-organic and no idea who the fuck is running the show. Damn it. How is it that Lebowski gave us the exact coordinates to the base, but couldn't be bothered to say who the hell his boss was? This whole situation is a dumpster fire. Charles Galloway would be turning in his grave right about now."

Outwardly, Lennox agreed, but internally, he dry-heaved. Charles Galloway was a terror of all kinds, and because of that, when he had first heard that he'd been shot in a guerilla Cemetery Wind attack, he personally didn't feel any remorse. The guy was unpleasant in every way and always made it abundantly clear to everyone in his wake that he didn't hold the Autobots in high regard.

But it didn't surprise Lennox that Braginsky had some respect for him, considering their, um, _striking_ similarities.

Braginsky placed his fingers on each of his temples and relaxed in that same, abrupt, creepy way he was well known for. "Well, at least Vale's active research into the techno-organic's mechanization has been yielding some pleasing results," he said. "Lennox, did you know that the nanites inside its body repair its chromosomal telomeres?"

"No, and I can't say I know what telomeres are either. Is it significant?"

"Oh, very," Braginsky said deviously. "In short, according to Vale, the weathering of our telomeres is what causes us humans to age. If those nanites repair those chromosomes, then, well, you get the picture."

Lennox didn't know how to react to that information. In lieu, he merely did nothing as Braginsky continued his soliloquy.

"'Bam. There goes aging,' is what he said—Vale's words, not mine. So even though that thing is a nuisance, it's at least compensated with its value as a test subject. You know, I wonder how much it costs to manufacture one of those things. It must be knee-deep in the millions."

Lennox took it upon himself to discreetly wipe his clammy hands off on the sides of his uniform. He didn't like where the conversation was going. Also, the fact that Braginsky wouldn't stop calling the lady an 'it' was badgering him exponentially. "Sir, with all due respect, might I ask what you initially came in here for? I have quite a bit of paperwork to finish up."

"Ah, my bad, Major," Braginsky said through a thin smile. "You see, I just wanted to deliver you a recent update from our watch-dogs at the Hoover Dam. The situation over there has been stabilized."

Lennox immediately drew back at this news. "Really? The reactor isn't at any risk of meltdown?"

"No. There was enough coolant to deter the reactors from collapsing. Honestly, when I initially got the news that they were broken from the shockwave, my heart sunk to my ass. I even found myself praying to a God I don't even believe in."

"Extra countermeasures will be taken in case there is another rumble, I presume?"

"Absolutely. If that thing goes haywire again…" Braginsky stopped and exhaled. "...Well, whatever. Crisis averted. That's the news, so I'll leave you to your mound."

He sat up and gradually made his way towards the door. But before he touched the knob, he stopped once again and said, "Oh, and as always, keep this confidential. This is just between you, me, and Morshower. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

Slowly but surely, the door closed, and Lennox was once again left by his lonesome. With his only company being the paperwork pile, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and focused on the work in front of him. The reactor was safe, the Hoover Dam wasn't at risk, and there wasn't a containment breach. But even though that was the case, as he grasped the ballpoint pen, his hand shook.

Nobody could find out about this.

 _Nobody._

* * *

"Where is the Prime?"

 _"Good question."_

"You must have an idea. This is something that NEST has to be diligently investigating."

 _"Nobody knows. One day he just up and vanished."_

"Ridiculous. A colossus of that size couldn't simply fade into thin air. I demand satisfactory answers, Autobot."

 _"I can't give them to you. Tough luck."_

"This is beyond disconcerting. Not only is Megatron loose and unaccounted for, but so is the Prime. Corrective action must be taken to subdue him."

Bumblebee scowled at that remark. Whenever Zero spoke of Optimus, she always acted as if he was some type of demon. _"Zero, (static) I'm not in the mood. Just drop it."_

"Your current attitude is puerile. I refuse to believe that an entity with the brainpower of a supercomputer couldn't come up with a singular educated guess."

 _"Too bad! I don't know, and neither does anyone else!"_

Zero frowned at that fierce outburst and merely watched as Bumblebee angrily sat down in front of the TV. This was the first time he had ever risen his musical voice at her, but she couldn't care less. Her ethical concern was the missing Prime. He had to be found. He was too treacherous, even if Bumblebee couldn't deduce that. It was apparent to her that he revered the Prime as a noble and kind figure, but her intel said otherwise. If the Autobot leader was still out running amock, then an immediate X intervention was more than in order.

"Punitive expeditions must have taken place."

 _"Of course they did."_

"Then something is amiss. Results must have been yielded."

 _"...There was nothing."_

Zero sneered, now a bit angry herself. "And there is something else that I fail to understand."

 _"Oh?"_

"Why in the developed world would NEST make _you_ , the youngest and most inexperienced Autobot, a _leader_? It is completely illogical."

Bumblebee jerked his helm up and swiveled around to confront his little charge. _"Just what do you mean by that?!"_

Zero stood taller upon the mountain she had been sitting on, matching Bumblebee's dramatic movements, and said, "I am more than well aware that prior to your becoming a leader, you were a scout."

 _"Yeah, so?"_

"So, it is troublesome. Scouts are just that—scouts. I am trying but failing to comprehend the reasoning behind selecting a questionably mature alien to be the leader of his own team without any prior captaincy experience."

Bumblebee flinched his doorwings, growing more irked by the second. _"I have been a part of this war (static) for longer than you have lived,"_ he contended fiercely.

"Hm…"

 _"Don't lecture me. I'm just doing what I can, whenever I can."_

"But why not choose Drift or Strongarm to be the leader? Not only are they more qualified than you, but they seem to be much more responsible as well. Something is wrong. This is bothering me to an exponential degree."

Bumblebee clutched his knees, opting to faze out of his robot body. For the first time in a while, he felt incensed. Although it was evident to him that Zero was just acting like her usual adroit self, it was driving him nuts. Not only Hound but _she_ —an incredibly dubious source—was deriding him without a single clue as to what went on inside his processor.

"For Primus' sake, I'm not perfect!" he yelled, tossing his arms above his head. "Do you seriously think that I wanted this job? Do you sincerely believe that I don't want to figure out where the heck Optimus went?"

Zero's eyes widened. This was a side of her keeper that she'd ne'er seen until now. He was being ardent, and she found the anarchic sight to be genuinely surprising. Under natural conditions, he was always jocund and nonsensically jejune. But this was far removed from the case now, and as the fake continued ranting, she felt a terrible knot grow in her stomach.

"Look, I don't fragging know why NEST put me in charge, alright? I get that there are better candidates for the job, but…" Bumblebee trailed off and ran his hands through his golden-blonde hair in exasperation. "...But they elected me, so that's that. If you have any complaints, then sorry, but it is what it is."

"I see," Zero said succinctly, jumping down from her perch with grace. "Then I will cede it at that. There must have been a reason. NEST is a complex military organization with intelligent individuals manning its wheel. So, I guess that I, um, _apologize_? It is possible that I was being a bit… _insensitive_? Although I am exhibiting a difficult time fathoming how, since all I did was state blatant observational factoids."

Bumblebee sagged his shoulders in defeat. The sight of Zero's big, round eyes looking at him implausibly was beginning to make him feel bad. "...No," he said gently. "I understand why you would wonder about that. Many people did when I was first assigned to the position. Look, I'm sorry for yelling at you. It's not like any of this is your fault. That was uncalled for..."

Zero muttered something unintelligible as her heteroclite companion's attractive face scintillated multiple layers of remorse. She had never been exposed to such emotional oscillations, meaning that she had no idea how to deal with them appropriately. She recognized herself as a methodical and logical entity, and like One-X, Two-X, and Three-X, she was never very well-versed in the realm of emotional intelligence.

Gathering a book from the pile, Zero made herself a spot and began reading, whereas Bumblebee soberly went to his berth. The blissful nothingness of recharge sounded practically godlike to him. And as he laid back, he welcomed the sleepiness with open servos as his clouded processor drifted off into the province of blank dreams.

* * *

A few hours passed before the Autobot woke up again, and when he did, he was unsurprised to find Zero fast asleep, propped up against the pile with a peaceful expression on her face. Not feeling the need to announce his wakefulness, he just watched as she snored softly and her chest rose and fell with the rhythmic ballooning of her organic lungs, her nimble little fingers still clutching a book in their grasp.

Bumblebee suffered another powerful pang of guilt for yelling at her earlier. Even if she was a bit harsh, he didn't like getting mad or showcasing anger to any degree, because whenever he did, he was reminded of his war-hardened-self from Cybertron.

What Hound and Zero didn't seem to understand was that just because he was youthful, it didn't mean he didn't know how to handle situations. He had been a scout for the majority of his life, so he knew when to get serious whenever the situation necessitated it. What had made him particularly angry was more or less the fact that Hound had undermined his skills simply because he had an ill training day. Getting to training on time was a task that had been growing more and more difficult for the 'bot, as the humans in charge had made it clear to him that keeping Zero in check was a chief priority as long as the Decepticons were in hiding.

Sitting up from his berth, Bumblebee rumbled his engine and steadily stood up as quietly as he could. Like always, he didn't want to wake Zero up, so even in spite of his massive size, he still tried his best not to disturb her.

He slowly wandered towards his private Energon compartment, and once he got there, he instantly began the fluid motion of pulling the latch and cringed when it squeaked loudly, reverberating throughout the entire room. Briefly looking behind him, Bumblebee softly whirred in relief as Zero continued to sleep soundly. Trying the latch again, like ripping off a band-aid, he swung the gilded door open and quickly swiped a cube of fresh high-grade.

Replicating the same process from before, Bumblebee carefully went to the opposing end of the room and sat down in front of the muted television screen. Switching the channel over to the news, he turned up the volume slightly and watched the events unfold as he took a few somber sips from his radiant beverage.

As per usual, there was nothing pleasant to report. There had been yet another shooting, and wildfires were threatening to burn down everything in their wake over in California. In Florida, they were getting blasted with hazardous rains, and in the Middle East, there had been yet another human rights disaster. Grimacing, he changed the channel to something more lighthearted. He didn't want to hear about any of the gloomy things going on right now. His processor was just too muddled to handle it.

Taking another swig of the high-grade, Bumblebee relaxed his gantels and thought to himself as the show droned in the background of his awareness. He just couldn't stop thinking about what Hound had said to him. He knew that Hound was mostly wrong, but that was the critical part— _mostly._ The older war mech did have a point about him getting lazier since the Decepticons went underground, but he still wasn't entirely ready to admit that to himself.

But aside from the whole training ordeal, there was something else that had been nettling Bumblebee as of late. Ancient memories kept floating back to him in droves, and he couldn't figure out why. Memories ranging from his time as a sparkling to when he had first arrived on Earth and to when he and Sam first met tacked onto his processor like super glue.

Bumblebee didn't like being reminded of the past, because even the memories of the auspicious times were just too painful for him to bear.

With yet another gulp of the high-grade, he let himself get zoned out by the flickering blue lights of the television screen. His mind was beginning to dull, and he smiled to himself as that familiar floaty feeling circumscribed him. It wasn't often that he indulged himself in high-grade, but whenever he did, it never failed to calm his grinding gears a bit.

Bumblebee filtered his air-vents and closed his optics tiredly. However, when he opened them back up again, to say that he was shocked out of his protoform would have been the understatement of the century.

Ominously staring up at him, half covered by the miasmic shadows of the pitch-black room, stood the unmistakably haunting form of Zero.

 _"Jesus!"_ Bumblebee squeaked out, jumping like a monkey at the sudden sight. _"W-What the heck?"_

"Autobot, you forgot to wake me up. My back hurts after sleeping while sitting up for so long."

 _"Could you not (static) sneak up on me? I almost had a heart attack!"_

Zero frowned, her face still half-covered by darkness. "Do not ignore my grievances. My back hurts, and you know that I don't like dealing with pain. And you don't have a heart, so what you just said makes no sense."

Bumblebee ran a sloppy servo down his cadulen, somewhat staggered. As intelligent as Zero was, there were times when she could be painfully obtuse.

"Hey, do not ignore—"

 _"Okay, okay,"_ said Bumblebee. _"Just get out of the dark. You look super creepy."_

Zero seemed to relax at this comment and gave a satisfied shake of her head. Turning towards the TV, she squinted from the bright light and then rotated once more to face her alien counterpart. "Autobot," she started, evidently curious, "might I ask what you are doing at this hour? It is rather late, and it is not as though you have the day off tomorrow."

 _"I could ask you the same question."_ Bumblebee took another sip from the cube and subsequently placed it down at his side. _"But overall, nothing much."_

Zero blinked. That was an unusual response. Ordinarily, Bumblebee was always eager to apprise her about what he was doing. Constricting her leer, she carefully scrutinized his facial expressions, trying to get a read on his emotions.

 _"Has anyone ever told you that (static) you stare way too much?"_

"Something is amiss with you," Zero expounded, not interested in beating around the bush. "You seem troubled."

Bumblebee lowered his antennas, not expecting that. _"Oh yeah? And how_ _do you know?"_

"Because I can see that something is awry. There is no point in denying it. I can interpret your facial expressions."

 _"Neat."_

Zero began the motion of crossing her arms but then stopped and sunk.

 _"What?"_

"Alien, is this about our more preliminary conversation? If so, then..." Zero glanced up at Bumblebee, and that familiar shyness graced her cheeks as she looked back down. "...Then I apologize yet again."

Bumblebee physically drooped. Once again, even though he hadn't done anything at all, he began to feel bad. The lugubrious mechanoid realized that Zero had incorrectly concluded that he was still mad at her, and wanted to set the record straight.

 _"No, no, no,"_ he said quickly, waving his servos in front of him. _"I'm not mad. It's just been..."_ He lowered his helm, unable to come up with a suitable response. If he was going to be completely open with himself, he didn't know why he felt the way he did. In the end, what Hound said was moot, and the past was the past.

But today, he just had a nasty wrench in his spark. And sadly, he didn't have Ratchet or anyone else around to pluck it out.

Zero opened her mouth a bit before inclining her head in acknowledgment. "I won't prod if you retain no interest in divulging the inner workings of your fundamental processing unit, but such a melancholic expression doesn't suit you at all. Seeing you like this is too strange, so stop it."

Bumblebee appraised Zero, a little bit surprised. As was typical, her words were drawn out and ho-hum, but something was bizarre. And then it occurred to him.

...Was she trying to _console_ him?

"Although I don't know what truly might be bothering you, considering your extensive time as a war scout, I think I can safely conclude that this has something to do with your recollections of the unpleasant past. If it is loss that has you emotionally disheveled, then let me just say that going through loss is a hill we all have to climb. No one wants to, and some handle it better than others, but just like death, taxes, and a crazed Trump tweet, loss in some form is an inevitability."

Bumblebee was a bit stunned. She really was trying to cheer him up.

Bumblebee couldn't withstand it, and he just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Zero's stony countenance softened at his unrelenting chortles, even though she had no idea what she had done to exact such a reaction from him. She was just relieved that he no longer seemed so dispirited.

Bumblebee chirped and extended his servo out to Zero in dynamism, his shoulders rising up and down from silent giggles. _"Thanks. I feel a lot better now,"_ he said.

"You are welcome, although your laughter has me a tad confused. Did I say something amusing?" she questioned innocently.

Bumblebee patted the tiny femme on the head with a grateful digit, mussing her downy hair.

"That doesn't answer my question, Autobot."

 _"I know."_

"Bothersome. One second you are jovial, the next you are disturbed, and then the next after the next you are back to being jovial. I don't know how to deal with it."

 _"I'm sure you'll learn_ _...eventually."_

"Very funny." Zero pushed his kind finger away. "And stop with the hair ruffling."

Bumblebee hummed, ignoring her words.

"You aren't stopping."

 _"Huh? Oh."_

"Autobot, you are acting abnormally."

 _"That's probably 'cause (static) I'm a little drunk right now."_

"Are you serious?"

 _"Cereal."_

"As I said—bothersome. Sometimes you are even worse than Jett."

 _"Sure, sure,"_ Bumblebee joked, brushing off her complaint.

Zero just rolled her eyes in surrender. At this point, she was more than well accustomed to the Autobot's hail-fellow-well-met attitude, and in all honesty, she was just satisfied that he was no longer troubled.

Unpleasant emotions truly did not suit him.

* * *

 ** _A/N: I don't know why, but this chapter was painfully challenging to write. I wracked my brain for two days trying to figure out how to end it, so hopefully it didn't turn out too bad._**

 ** _Something I do in this chapter is tie up a key loose end from chapter 5 when Bumblebee mentions that Zero hadn't been who they were looking for. As it turns out, Niko is a pretty relevant part of this story._**


	16. The B-side

"Jeanette, I'm fucking bored! How much longer is this going to take?"

Jeanette clutched the roseate steering wheel of her 2018 G-Wagon in vexation. "Darling, need I forcibly remind you that we've only been on the road for fifteen minutes now? I don't have to whip out a crystal ball to know that you have a brain the size of a guinea pig's shit pellet, but is it so shot that the scenery outside the window can't even entertain you? I mean, honestly—what do you want me to do, jingle keys in front of your face?"

Niko offered his ex-girlfriend a wholesome show of his middle finger, but not before sticking his pierced tongue out in deep-seated enmity. "Well then, _dear,_ need I remind you that before we got into the goddamned car, I was stuck dealing with Jett as he squealed over that stupid dolly bitch? And because I was trapped babysitting his cockeyed ass while you took your precious time getting to my bar, my fucking phone died. This is all your fault."

Jeanette gasped with contempt, her gunmetal earrings clinking in tandem with the calumnic throw of her head. "Maybe at the next gas station you can pick up one of those portable chargers. If it spares me the torture of listening to your annoying voice until we get to Manhattan, then I'll do just about anything."

"Can't," Niko replied, acedia wafting over him.

"Huh?"

"I said that I can't. I'm all out of cash."

Jeanette curled her lips upward, her curiosity suddenly aroused. "What, coke bill overdue?"

"Huh? No!"

Jeanette giggled.

"What?"

"Might I make a suggestion? How about you quit throwing all of your money away on marijuana-flavored dildos and Japanese tentacle porn, darling. Maybe that way you won't always be strapped for cash."

"You leathery cumdump of a witch. What is your fucking problem?"

"Haha, isn't it obvious? My problem is you~" Jeanette denigrated with a sickly touch of saccharine. "I can barely tolerate having you in the same city as me, let alone the same car as me."

Niko clicked his tongue and gritted his teeth, rancor clawing up his throat like bile. "Yeah, well, I can't quite say that I like being trapped inside of a fifteen-tonne vehicle with a terrible bitch like you, either. It reminds me of that time we went to Arlington, Texas, back in 2023. You wouldn't stop crowing the entire taxi ride to the precinct. Hah, I remember that night you were forking down some sushi and ended up choking and spitting all over the place. Oh, and remember how the bouncer had to do the Heimlich maneuver on you when the salmon still wouldn't dislodge from your throat? And then you spat up all over the manager's face?" He liberated a hoity-toity snigger, slapping the dashboard of the car in sadistic amusement. "Man, that was priceless. I actually kind of felt for the poor bastard. You know, I'm rather astonished that your saliva didn't burn a hole right through his face, seeing how you're more deleterious than a labia-chewing swamp raccoon from Chernobyl's exclusion zone."

Jeanette closed her covetous eyes and chuckled menacingly under her burning breath. _Ah, darling. What a dapper bloke you are. A true gentleman, indeed._

"Really, Nikolai—be a love and fuck off. If you honestly want to bring up the past, then how about I remind you of the time you devoured that pecan-coated chocolate bar at the airport in Curaçao. Remember how your face swelled up to three times its original size? And on top of that, because you were so fucked-up and delusional from the allergic reaction, you wouldn't stop singing '80s rock songs in the key of hepatitis C. Oh, and you shat your pants. I could never forget that sight even if I wanted to." Jeanette tee-heed in dastardly effervescence, very much entertained by the light blush that had cascaded over her previous lover's cheeks. "Ah, what fun memories. I always thought it was a shame that the pecans in that chocolate bar didn't suffocate you right then and there. I guess the devil really does exist. A pity, truly."

For what felt like the first time in a long one, Niko didn't have a comeback that was edge-tastic enough to counter Jean's oral sockdolager. And as he grumbled to himself like a rabid hyena on speed, she beamed in victory. Even though that escapade had been revolting to almost every degree imaginable, looking back on it now was pretty hilarious to her.

Once again, the pair stopped talking, and several more minutes passed as Niko twisted and jittered in his seat from boredom. However, unlike her bohemian ex, Jeanette was beyond satisfied with the frigid silence. It was quite a gorgeous day outside, and as they passed by shopping districts and hoards of bustling New Yorkers, the voluptuous red-haired woman felt herself relax—if only a little bit.

"...Hey, Jean."

Jeanette instantly glowered. _Shit._ "What is it now, darling?"

"I heard that on long car rides like this, every once in a while a bug will come and splat on your windshield."

"Um, excuse me, but what the fuck?"

"I think I'd be ecstatic just to see that. Sitting in this trashy car, I'm suffering from so much sensory deprivation that anything to break the monotony would be fucking amazing. If a bug came and splat on this windshield, that would blow my fucking mind."

"...Oh my god, I honestly can't tell if you have advanced ADHD or if you are just developmentally disabled. Did your father use your head as his personal soccer ball whenever he drank a cold one with the boys?"

"Hardy-har. Real funny, Jean. But seriously, can't you turn on the radio or something?"

"Not on your life, honey-bunch."

"And why the hell not?"

"Because your taste in music is horrendous."

Niko scoffed and presented Jeanette with his prototypical 'what-the-flying-fuck' face.

"Don't even bother," she said swiftly, glancing at him briefly through the rear-view mirror. "I'd prefer the bug-talk to whatever horseshit you would put on blast."

"Geez!" Niko mewled with a wave of his hand. "Now you're starting to sound like Jett. Look, if it means that I won't be bored out of my mind for the rest of this trip, then I'll literally reimburse you once we're done with this recruitment spiel."

Jeanette burst into a fit of hearty cackles, which sent a nasty zithering down Niko's back that made his spinal hair rise. "Sure you will, kid. When the skies turn coarse, and it rains fucking gypsies."

"Ugh, come on! Quit acting like such a stuck-up prick and just turn on the fucking radio!"

"No."

"Argh, why!?"

"Well, for starters, I'm feasting on your misery," Jeanette cooed with a celebratory grin. "To me, it tastes of joy. And it's like I said exactly one second ago—your taste in music sucks. No one listens to Duran Duran these days because nobody gives two shits about the '80s anymore. I'd say that era pretty much croaked in on itself with Kurt Cobain after he stuck a gun up his nose and blew himself to kingdom come, Barney-style. But if you at least want some introspection into a few tolerable bands that existed during that time, then listen to Echo and the Bunnymen instead of Duran fucking Duran. Now screw off and shut up, or I'll pull this damn car over and strand you out on the highway for some thirsty sex-trafficker who has a taste for middle-aged man-children."

"Malignant clit."

"Say what you will, Nikolai. I don't really care. But I suggest that you shut up now."

"Ho-bag. Whoreopolis. Faggarella. Cuntingstein. _Log hog._ "

"I'm warning you. You better close your mouth."

"Jeanette, has anyone ever told you that you are literally the anti-shag? I would rather fuck a botfly-coated truncheon garnished with fried syphilis discharge and a dash of dandruff powder than get with you again."

"That's quite the visual sentence, Nik."

"What can I say? I'm a storyteller, a thot-slayer, and an English mastermind all in one. Revere me, Jean. Revere me."

"Listen, darling," Jeanette said as she reached for her phone, her eyes still trained on the road before her. "I'm going to give you a grand total of five minutes to shut the fuck up. If you are still running your mouth by the time the alarm goes off..." She paused, sparing Niko a quick glance at her phone screen. "...Then I'm going to get annoyed. And I would _heavily_ advise against annoying me."

"Ha! Give me a break. Who do you think you are? My mother? If so, then how about you follow in her footsteps and jump off the nearest three-story fuck hut?"

"So that's your final verdict, hm?"

"Fuck. You."

"Alright, five minutes."

"Whatever." Niko slunk back into the padded folds of the G-Wagon and mindlessly bit his lower lip with disinterest. But then an unusual sight seized his attention. As Jeanette came to a smooth stop in front of a red light, his stare was drawn out of the car window like a cat was to a laser pointer. "Jean! Look over here," he said, directing her attention towards a spot outside on the sidewalk. "It's a rat."

Jeanette leaned over slightly, following the shark-faced lickspittle's outstretched digit. Squinting her eyes, she realized that, indeed, there was a rat. It was basking, no, _luxuriating_ in the warmth of a lone garbage pile. It was a big fat one, and as it scratched and chewed at an abandoned red solo cup, its revoltingly wormlike tail twitched in merriment.

"God, just look at that thing. It's just living its best life. Gross," said Niko.

"Magnificently disgusting, it is," Jeanette replied.

Niko's face turned reflective and oddly philosophical. "Jean, what is the deal with rats and New York City? It's almost as if they work in spiritual tandem with one another, sort of like the complex energy between yin and yang, or dicks and vaginas."

Jeanette tapped her finger on the steering wheel, actually considering the witless suggestion. Ultimately coming up with nothing substantial, she merely replied with a simple, "Sorry, sweetheart—you're gonna have to help me out here."

"What I mean is this: why the heck do vermin flock to this city specifically? For fuck's sakes, if you were to herd them all up, imagine just how many rat kings you would stumble across. They're crammed into sewage drains like a horde of fucking sardines, their gross-ass tails all tangled up in one another. The sight would probably be more reminiscent to that of ramen noodles than an angry ball of choleric pubic hair. How in the holy hell do these things even stay alive? If you ask me, rats are worse than cockroaches."

"Go on, Niko. I'm listening."

"The little fucks are indestructible. Flush 'em down the toilet? Nothing. Rattrap the entire house until there's nowhere to walk? Nothing. Christ, catapult them out your window with a fucking Ballista, and what do you get? Jack shit. I swear to god, is it because humans have just tried to exterminate them with every chemical under the sun that they all got mutated or something? I mean, look at that plump motherfucker!" Niko shouted, dramatically thrusting his arms towards the rat as he did so.

"Agreed. I must say, that is quite the blubbery rodent."

"And what do they eat? Fucking trash. These things are like miniature garbage disposals. Where the hell do rats even get their nutritional value from?"

"Quite vexing, yes. Makes you think, Nik."

"It really does, doesn't it, Jean?"

An understanding vibe spread throughout the vehicle, and for a split second, all was well. The red light flicked to green, the traffic made its way past, and Jeanette continued to drive to her destination with a neutral expression on her face. But unbeknownst to Niko, she was waiting…

They inadvertently passed by a McDonald's, and yet another time, in that same childish way, Niko's eyes lit up like the blistering hellscape of the planet Venus. "Yuck," he said.

"Yuck?" Jeanette queried.

"Yeah, yuck. McDonald's has got to be the nastiest establishment to ever plague our dying world. Ebola and malaria don't have shit on the obesity infestation in this country."

"That's not a very politically correct thing to say, Niko. You better not let the Tumblrinas hear you. Rumor has it that they have a taste for male tears."

"Boo-hoo—too fucking bad. I may not be a master chef, but the last time I walked into a McDonald's, I was appalled. Everywhere I looked there was some oil-saturated fatass loafing on shit that could pass for jizz-coated guano logs and room-temperature weasel piss."

"Hm…" Jeanette mused, thinking. And then a rebellious thought came to her. With a snap of her fingers, she said, "Wait a second. You're familiar with Darwinian evolution, correct?"

Niko smirked, deep in his own incredulity. "Uh, yeah? Who the fuck isn't? Everyone has that shit imprinted into their brains by grade seven. Err, well, that is if you don't have some conservative, butt-munching zealot for a homeroom teacher."

"Right. Well, according to evolution, the strong overtake the weak, and eventually, the weak and inefficient die off. Translating such an obsolete notion into today's society, I could make a sound argument in favor of McDonald's existence, as in a way, they are helping clean up the gene pool. Think about it. The corpulent fucks go in and gorge themselves on McFlurries for $2.99, all whilst speeding up their impending heart attacks and diabetic comas. If you look at it in that respect, then McDonald's is actually doing our society a favor. As a matter of fact, we should all be thanking Ray Croc and George Yang for their exterminatory triumphs. True heroes, they are. Hitler would be so proud. Stalin would be fighting back tears."

Niko let that sink in. "...Wow, I never thought of it that way. T-This changes everything. Thanks for guiding me towards the light, Jean. I was such a fool—a lost lamb."

Jeanette quickly looked to her phone screen. "But of course, my dear."

Three.

Two.

One.

 _ ***BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!***_

 _Halle-fucking-lujah._

Jeanette's face promptly broke out into a vast, unpropitious grin, and Niko just looked at her with confusion. "Oh, that alarm," he said.

Slowing down the car at another oblique intersection, Jeanette rapidly searched for something, _anything,_ to stop for. And then she saw it. Standing proud like a sacred monolith, stationed upon the finest grade of ashy, birdshit-splattered concrete, stood her righteous savior.

 _Walmart. Let the angels sing._

Jeanette made a sharp turn into the establishment's parking lot. Niko offered his ex a helpless look, but she simply continued to smile into the void of soulless acrimony. "Jean, why in the devil's name are we stopping here?" he asked. "To get to my associate's place, we have to turn left at the—"

"Niko, shut—I mean, be quiet. Do you remember how you were crying about your phone being dead? Well, look—now we can get you a charger."

"But I already said that I don't have any cash."

"Oh no, that's fine," Jeanette said sweetly. "I'll buy it for you—just this once, though."

Niko visibly stiffened, suddenly suspicious. Based on his extensive past experiences with Jeanette, he knew without question that she was up to something wicked. Call it a man-child's intuition, if you will. "What's the catch?"

"There is no catch, darling. I'm just feeling a tad giving is all."

"What's the catch?"

"Like I just said, there is no catch."

"What's the catch?"

"Nikolai, must you always make me out to be remorseless and vindictive? All I want to do is get you a charger so we can set about our separate business in peace. You get to be entertained, and I get to relish in the vacuous sound of nothingness. It's a win-win for both of us if you just cooperate."

"What's the catch?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it a—"

"What's the catch?"

"I'd rather you pay me back. With interest."

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

Jeanette mentally cursed Niko's parents for fornicating and ran her hands through her hair, trying to contain her inner serial killer and prevent herself from going on the warpath. "Niko, get out of my motherfucking car and go get your charger," she practically rasped, handing him a ten. "And don't come back without it, or I will kill you in your sleep. Oh, and no wandering into stray alleyways either. The last thing I'm going to do is save a vulva-curdling sycophant like you from getting arse-raped by some greasy, meth-crazed prison escapee."

Niko swore under his breath, popping the seatbelt loose. Cautiously opening the door, he leered at his unwanted workmate with a dense puck of maladjusted perturbation. Walking away, he reluctantly entered the store. A few minutes later, he purchased what he needed and quickly stepped back out. Jogging towards the middle of the parking lot, Niko stopped before the G-Wagon's leftover oil blotch, fuming.

Dilemma.

"...Fuck me ragged with a concrete dildo," he frothed, smoke nearly blowing out of his ears.

Jeanette's car was gone.

 _That fucking bitch._

* * *

"Vehicular manslaughter. The official report says that the victim's brain matter was splayed over a radius of about fifty feet. The majority of their vital organs liquified upon impact, and tire marks leading away from the carnage suggest the suspect ran the individual over with explicit intent. And since Energon radiation was detected all over the scene, I think it is sagacious to conclude that a Cybertronian is to blame for this unspeakable tragedy."

"What the hell are we gonna do about it, then? This is an outrage!" a man screamed in the distance, patriotically raising his fists into the air. "Another innocent—killed! And for what reason!? These Cybertronians... I swear, we oughta just—"

"Sir," One-X droned, "I can assure you that the matter is being dealt with as I speak. As of this exact moment, my younger, more advanced workmates are tracking down the invading hazard with utmost efficiency. Justice will be served."

Skimming over the entire crowd of gathered Cemetery Wind operatives and foreign investors, One-X stopped once she struck a familiar face. It was Jett, Zero-X's collaborative partner. He too had his hand raised and was appraising the techno-organic with a suspicious tick in his body language.

"You," One-X said, forcing the man out of the crowd with a curt motion of her finger. "Special agent Jett Sterling—what is it that you wish to vocalize?"

Jett sat up from his stoop and charily stuffed his hands into his pockets. Something was nefarious. "Uh, yeah. For starters, might I ask why the Director currently isn't present? And why exactly are you here, One-X? Aren't you supposed to be with the other two on corpse patrol?"

There was a slight murmur throughout the crowd as men and women shifted to look at Jett, a bit surprised by his unapologetically blunt inquiry.

One-X tucked a strand of pale, tow-colored hair behind her ear and sighed at Jett with soulless disinterest. "Special agent Jett Sterling, I am present here today as per the Director's orders. As I am convinced that you are already aware, he possesses several health issues as a result of his physical hiccups. Because of this, he didn't feel as though it would be necessary for him to attend this conclave, and as such, he requested that I take his place. Two-X and Three-X do not need my assistance on the battlefield; they are more than well equipped to handle strenuous situations by their lonesome. Any more questions?"

"Yes, actually," Jett said bullishly. "So what's the latest report on our two missing subjects? Do you and the information brokers finally have any leads, or is it still a bust?"

One-X blinked slowly. "Jett Sterling, please rectify your question with further details. I do not understand."

Jett tensed, just about ready to rip his hair out. "Where. Is. Franz. Lebowski. And. Zero. You—"

"Agent!" a nearby officer screeched. "Be silent! Just what do you think you are doing? Do you not possess a single ounce of professionalism?"

"Hey, I wasn't talking to—"

"Jett Sterling, as the Director and Three-X have previously explained to you, searches for our eldest inferior and the foot soldier are prohibited," One-X said, interrupting the men's hubbub. "Because we have direct confirmation that NEST kidnapped Zero-X, the Director decided that it would be prudent to relinquish her to her own devices, specifically for the sake of our company as a whole."

"That is such bullshit," Jett gobbed. "The Director is absolutely rolling in dough! I would know because I get a cut of it. The guy has exotic billionaires handing him cash on a silver platter, yet he can't be bothered to send out a small special ops force to retrieve her and investigate the other guy's disappearance? Unbelievable."

"Jett Sterling, a search would be a waste of human resources, which would be better focused on tracking down and slaughtering picaroon aliens."

Jett's face reddened, and he moved forward, ready to vocalize another retort. However, before he could do so, he was stopped by an unknown hand which roughly clasped his shoulder.

"Hey, I'd stop now if I were you, Sterling," the hand's owner—a man—mumbled, hesitantly glancing up at One-X. "Or have you forgotten that she is an X? If she hands the Director an adverse report on your behavior, then you'll be fucked. Just cut it out while you're ahead."

Jett shirked the man's hand off with a harsh shake and grimaced. It was a bit of a dickish move on his part, considering the guy was absolutely right. The Director had threatened to galvanize him on several different occasions just for voicing his concerns on certain topics, and he figured that the crippled bastard was reaching his wit's end.

"Jett Sterling, if that is all you have to say, then let us move on, shall we? You—" One-X beckoned towards a female officer. "Your inquiry?"

The officer sneezed, then asked, "Might I ask about the situation concerning the deconstruction and reconstruction of the weapons found in the stolen cache pod? I have yet to get a full report. Since it happened quite some time ago, I would be very much obliged if you could resolve it for me now before our time runs out."

"Ah, the cache pod situation. Yes, the resizing of the alien weaponry worked out flawlessly. It is because of those weapons that we are now able to exterminate the alien resistance while simultaneously keeping NEST unaware of our movements. The portable ground-bridge also aids in the task of cleaning up wreckage without any local humanitarian interference. So far we have amassed quite the collection of transformium, so I should mention that in due time you and the other officers will be receiving new firearms."

The officer grinned from ear-to-ear. "Thank you, One-X. I appreciate it."

Before that moment, Jett didn't think it was possible for him to scrunch his nose so deep into his face. He felt that the way his workmates sucked up to the Cleverbot clone and revered her like a demi-god was vomitous. Zero was the only biorobot who deserved such praise—not One-X and her words of mindless Director-fodder.

Tumultuously and exuberantly, One-X said, "I shall perorate this conclave at that. You are all dismissed."

At the sound of her metallic footsteps making their way down the stage's stairwell, everyone set about the arduous task of shuffling out of the concert hall's double-decker doorways. Slinking behind as his peers got caught in the mosh pit, Jett pulled out a cigarette and set the end ablaze.

"Yo, Sterling. No smoking indoors."

 _What the fuck?_

Jett turned around to see who the mystery vocalist was and was surprised to see the dude he had cuntishly shirked away. "Huh? Who gives a damn?" he said nonchalantly, albeit a little bit hesitantly.

"One-X, if she swings back around. You know how those biorobots are. They have cameras pasted to the backs of their skulls."

"Come hell or high water for all I care."

"You don't seem to be much of a fan of those three."

"A remarkably astute observation, my good sir. Would you like a cookie?"

"Alrighty then, shithead."

"Is there a specific reason as to why you felt the need to initiate this conversation?"

The man stared at Jett for a second, mulling his words over. "Yeah. Well, aside from you being a right jackwagon and all, I just wanted to say that I agree with what you said back there. I don't like how the Director is handling the prototype situation at all. In plus, Franz was a good friend of mine. I know he wouldn't just run away and hide. Something happened to him with Blastos, and I have a feeling that the prototype might have a clue as to what."

Jett was completely boggled. Holy shit, a person existed who actually agreed with him? A person besides himself had some semblance of a moral compass? And they weren't a disabled fucknugget, an unfeeling puppet, a sharp-toothed wankstain, or an unctuous, pheromone-spewing bitch? Christ almighty—it truly was a miracle.

"Well, anyway, that's all," said the man. "It is possible that I'll catch you later. Although I'd rather not after this interaction." He started meandering away, figuring that his words had fallen on deaf ears.

However, after smooshing his cigarette against the underneath of his polished shoe, Jett called out to him with an effervescent, "Wait!"

The man sagged his shoulders and stopped. "What?"

"A guy with the right opinions has to have a name, right?"

The man quirked a grin. "Well, when you say it like that, it sounds like you want to invite me out on a date. Moreover, are you really so narcissistic that you can't even be bothered to remember the names of the guys in your unit?"

"Ha! Good one. So how about that name?"

"They call me Rissen. Moe Rissen. Now could you let me loose? That shit you were just smoking smells like burnt toothpaste. It's really quite disgusting."

Jett casually jerked his thumb, signaling the guy to scram.

Cracking an amused smile in response, Rissen pompously pivoted and walked off.

 _Tch, twat,_ Jett thought.

But at least he was a doable twat.

* * *

 _ **A/N: A rat king is a collection of rats whose tails are intertwined and bound together by one of several possible mechanisms, such as entangling material like hair or sticky substances like sap or gum. (Wikipedia)**_

 _ **Also, sometimes I wonder if I should change the rating of this story to mature, considering the vast number of expletives I use.**_


	17. Scientific Face Squeezing

"Cardiovascular disease is an umbrella term that is habitually used to describe a range of conditions that affect the human heart. Although it is utilized interchangeably by many, it is actually heart disease that represents a dynamic scope of maladies such as coronary artery disease, blood vessel diseases, arrhythmias, and congenital heart defects. Cardiovascular disease is more specific to narrowed blood vessels, angina, stroke, and other general symptoms that may stipulate an impending heart attack. The indicators of this ailment usually vary between men and women. However, chest pain, shortness of breath, and fainting are typically shared between the two genders. And as I am convinced you can already see, I do not exhibit any such prodromes. My physical health is more than perfectly fine, therefore your words are spurious at best."

Bumblebee checked the clock, wholly lost in the chasm of intelligence Zero had so graciously spewed out to him. Primus, all he had done was make an innocuous side-comment about her possibly developing cardiovascular disease with all the junk food she shoves down, but like always, the joke had completely flown over her head. _"Thanks for the information. You do realize that I (static) was only kidding, right?"_

Zero lifted a large spoonful of her strawberry sundae into the air and heedlessly shoved it into her mouth, shivering as it made its leisurely journey down her esophagus and into her waiting digestive tract. It had been a long time since she'd eaten ice-cream, and tasting the impossibly delicious sweetness once more was almost euphoric for the perspicacious detainee. "No, I didn't. My mistake," she replied with no sentiment whatsoever.

Another gulp.

Bumblebee rubbed the nape of his neck, disillusionment overtaking him. He altered into his holoform and walked over to Zero, taking a seat beside her on the velveteen kitchen stool. "It's like I always say, you take trivial things way too seriously," he said, his mouth somewhat downturned. "You don't have to be so analytical about everything. At the very least, you can unwind around me."

And yet another gulp.

"...There you go again with such nonsense," Zero said with a jaded intonation. "Autobot, you are by far the most nonconformist alien I have ever stumbled across. Watching over possible anarchists is an undertaking that doesn't suit your personality at all."

Bumblebee slouched back, a bit perplexed. "Yeah, you're definitely going to have to elaborate on that one. I think I've been doing a relatively good job looking after you so far."

Zero's tenor became vacant, and her offbeat thoughts automatically began tunneling themselves back into the deepest depths of her encephalon. "You are too philanthropic for the task, which doesn't sink in with me since you come from a world that destroyed itself. You're supposed to be a war machine—a ruthless killer—but you aren't, which is confusing. And based on the behavioral classes the Director generously provided me in the distant past, I am inclined to believe that correctional officers should refrain from idiosyncracies such as joke-making and the like. Anything that deviates from work is simply not needed for the mechanized of society."

"Wow. That sure is a pretty radical way of looking at things. And hold on..." Bumblebee dwindled as he twirled in his seat. "...Did you just say 'behavioral classes'? What do you mean by that exactly?"

Just as Zero was about to consume another cordillera of ice-cream, she halted mid-motion, going gelid in her chair.

Looking over and away from Bumblebee, she instead focused on the kitchen aisle's marble counter as her conscious thoughts started tumbling over one another at hyper speed. Like when she had revealed the scientific name of her kind to him, she had inadvertently divulged information about Cemetery Wind once again.

Frescan memories of the Director and his dozens of shrill commands started to fizz from the blotchy abyss of her cerebral cortex, and she began to fall into that same hole of not knowing whether or not she was a failure for mentioning information about herself. But as cognitive dissonance started to kick in to prevent her from having a breakdown, she quickly came to the ultimate conclusion that she hadn't done anything wrong since her slip-up had no meaningful connection to the Director's identity or his more louche operations.

"It means exactly what it sounds like," Zero said, her demeanor now torporic and inert. "I know much of what I do today because of the Director of Cemetery Wind. Upon christening me as Zero-X, he taught me how an X should always behave—like consistently following orders and standing as an exemplar for the perfect man-at-arms. What followed was an intense regimen that was both physically and psychologically taxing, but it was all necessary for fulfilling my role as his very first successful hybrid—his prototype. There was much isolation. Lateness was inexcusable. Perfection was to be endlessly strived for. Now that is all I can allow myself to say, so do not ask me about it again."

Bumblebee went slack-jawed, flummoxed by his charge's almost bored-to-death confession. He knew that Zero had been brainwashed, but hearing the confirmation come straight from her mouth made him feel disturbed. "...Pardon my french, but that's kind of—no, unbelievably messed up," he said upfront. "Everything that you just told me is not normal—not okay. Humans aren't meant to be put under such duress. Nobody is perfect. It's just impossible."

Zero dug into her cup and pulled out a lone strawberry that once sat on top of a hoard of whipped cream. She popped the fruit into her mouth, and a light crunching noise emitted from the inside of her cheek as she chewed it slowly—carefully relishing in its seraphic glacé. "You may not like it or deem it 'normal,' but the fact is that your opinions on the workings of Cemetery Wind are not a concern of mine," she said in between chews. "Autobot, I think you are beginning to forget I am not supposed to be sympathetic towards your way of doing things, so I am not. I am not like the other humans you know, nor will I ever be, because I am not ordered to act like such. I am a civil servant, not a civilian. That is what my role has been for years now. That is my purpose."

"But is that really what you want, or what this 'Director' wants?"

"What I want is irrelevant."

"Zero, you aren't stationed at Cemetery Wind right now. You don't have to do what that person says because he isn't around to breathe down your neck."

Zero slid the now-empty bowl away from her and wrung her hands together, her lips parted ever so slightly. "Listen, I know that you mean well, but let me turn the tables on you. Since your Prime is gone and Megatron is silent, why don't the Autobots and Decepticons disband and reconcile their ideological differences?"

"Well, that's—"

"Because of _loyalty._ Just like how the Autobots are loyal to the Prime, the Decepticons are loyal to their dictator, and the soldiers are loyal to NEST, I am loyal to the Director. It's as simple as that. I shouldn't have to explain this."

"But just because you're loyal to someone doesn't mean you should disregard your own emotions and needs as a sentient being. That… Well, that was something that took me a long time to figure out." Bumblebee grew laconic and began tapping his fingers against the counter, unsure as to what else he could say on the matter.

Zero also didn't know what else she could add to the conversation but was satisfied that it seemed to be nearing its end. Talking about herself wasn't a thing she should have been doing. Opting to rest her head in her arms and sink onto the counter, she said, "Autobot, I'm not going to ask you to elaborate on the concluding part of your sentence, but…"

"...?"

"...I find you fascinating. You remind me of my partner. He definitely would have said something like that, albeit a bit louder and with a brooding puff off his cigarette. He is always unprofessional and over the top, much like yourself. I'm not sure what to make of your similarities."

Bumblebee gave his female compeer a half-smile and joined her in resting his head in his arms. "I feel like that's a back-handed compliment, Pigtails."

Zero lifted her chin, annoyed, and Bumblebee plastered on one of his customary cheesy smiles in anticipation for her forthcoming complaint.

But rather than complain, she just innocently poked him in the cheek, much to his surprise, and to hers.

The sensation of his synthetic flesh was astoundingly lifelike, and as she absorbed the unusual warmth and texture of the fake's features through her fingertip, she became enchanted.

His face was squishy.

New discovery.

* * *

 _ **Elsewhere...**_

* * *

"Three-X?"

"Yes, Two-X?"

"The target just executed a sharp right. It seems as though the alien vandal thinks it can escape our surveillance by going undercover in the pocket of timberland. Your orders?"

The two were stationed atop a moderately-sized hillock, carefully watching the injured Decepticon like a fierce hunter would a biddable deer. It was an unpleasant endeavor that wasn't aided with the blistering cold outside, but it was necessary because right now they had the beast right where they wanted it.

Three-X placed a hand over his chin and responded to his more venerable workmate with a sanguine, "I find it illogical that it would take cover in a field of perennial and herbaceous plants. Cybertronians can be easily spotted in such pristine environments, as Energon radiates off of them in plumes. They cannot be cloaked in biotic undergrowth like they can when they go undercover in human metropolises."

"I see."

"It is plotting something. It wants to lure us out. Deploy, but do not engage it until I deem it safe. For the present, we will trail behind it at a distance of two hundred feet. That way, if it contains any explosives or detachable automatons, then we will be able to detect and dodge them with greater ease and reliability."

"Affirmative," Two-X replied, giving a dutiful salute.

* * *

 ** _Poke **.** Poke. Poke. Poke._**

"Hey, cut it out," Bumblebee said hesitantly, fairly weirded-out by Zero's random and strange behavior.

 _ **Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke.**_

"But I can't," Zero replied, transfixed by the realistic pappiness of Bumblebee's cheek. "It just feels so _real._ And the attention to detail! Tell me, how does it work?"

"Err, well, it's mostly made up with the help of microscopic nanomachines and light refractions..."

"No, no, not that. I am already privy to that information." Zero continued poking Bumblebee's supple skin, enthralled by his overall verisimilitude. "What I mean is that it's squishy, like real flesh. Can you feel little things through the holoform like you normally would in your alternative mode?"

Zero pinched Bumblebee's cheek, stinging it pretty bad.

"Ow! Ow! Don't do that!" he cried, instinctively flinching away.

Zero's features immediately lit up, and the helical gears in her Director-addled brain began spinning with pent-up excitement. "You can feel pain in this form? That was something I was unaware of. All I was ever told was that holoforms were used as another form of disguise for you aliens. I didn't think the machinations that formulated the fakes were so scientifically exhaustive that they allowed you to feel the horrid sensation of pain as well."

Bumblebee rubbed his cheek and winced. "Did you seriously have to do that? Geez, if you're so curious about my holoform, then I'd be happy to answer whatever questions you have. Just don't pinch me again. You're a lot stronger than you look."

Zero took a dominant step forward and reached up and cupped Bumblebee's head in her hands, causing him to flush pink.

"I can practically feel the light stubble on your face," she muttered dreamily, her thumbs tracing his chiseled jawline with soft strokes. "Interesting. You are interesting, Autobot. A literal megalith of untapped scientific intellect like yourself requires my immediate attention. I must study you."

Before the unsuspecting mech could react, Zero went back to his cheeks, tugging at his synthetic flesh with all her might, causing him to shriek out an ear-splitting "Y'OWWW!" and seize her wrists with his hands. "What the heck!? Knock it off! I just said that if you have any questions, I'll answer them for you!"

Zero glanced from her right wrist to her left wrist and then finally to Bumblebee. Two red dots took the place of where her probing fingers had been, and she grew even more motivated by the sight. "Sorry, Autobot. But I don't think that is good enough in this instance. Scientific research is a pivotal part of my constituent. Direct experimentation has always been encouraged by the Director."

"But do you really need to squeeze my fragging face? What could you possibly have to learn by doing that?"

Zero didn't bother offering him a plausible explanation. Alternatively, she opted to twist and jerk her wrists from his hold, setting herself free and cracking her knuckles in preparation for her evil scheme. "Many things, actually," she said vaguely. "But that doesn't matter. You could simply cooperate. I would be much obliged if you did so."

"Nope. No way. Not gonna happen."

"Please?"

"Heck no!"

Zero lunged for Bumblebee's cheek, but he jumped back just in the lick of time. "You better keep those little grabbers away from me, Zero. No face pinching. Got it?"

"As I have already said, my apologies. But if you can't accept research as my reasoning for doing this, then need I remind you that you called me Pigtails? That sobriquet is strictly forbidden, and you know it."

"Hey, h-hold on!" he sputtered out, but it was pointless. She pounced at him with the vehemence of a cheetah, and her fingers went straight for his face.

Bumblebee dashed before she could fully reach him, hunting for an escape route of some kind. Remembering the bathroom, he took off towards the bend, his combat boots squeaking against the hardwood floor with each frantic step.

Unwilling to heel, Zero picked up her pace.

She may have allowed the Autobot to run away from her, but there was simply no way she was going to let him hide as well.

* * *

As was expected, the Cybertronian had been baiting Two and Three-X into a trap.

It seemed as though it thought it could use the trees as a sort of blanket while it snapped and clawed at them at random intervals, hoping to either squash them between its massive incisors or swipe them out of the sky like a human would a mosquito.

Their previous plan of staying just out of a two hundred foot radius of the monster only worked for a little while, but as they traveled deeper and deeper into the verdurous landscape and its movements became more erratic, Three-X deemed it necessary to break their previously linear formation.

Flying away from the raging interloper as it shot upward like a fiery geyser, Two-X regarded his leader with a sense of slight apprehension. Three-X seemed to be deliberating on confronting the mechanical atrocity, and he couldn't quite figure out why. To him, what they should do was obvious: lock onto its heat signature, wrench their bazookas down onto the undeveloped forest, and fire away. But it seemed like Three-X had another idea in mind, and as they dodged another volley of the Decepticon's thrashes and swipes, the younger techno-organic motioned for his reliable cohort to retreat a couple of dozen feet upward, thus confirming his suspicions.

"Everyone is gone!" the Decepticon bawled as it fell back down through the overhanging trees, no doubt crushing several faultless animals under its merciless skid-plate. "Everyone was slaughtered! I saw it with my own four optics! Miserable devils! All humans are devils in the bodies of insects! Wicked devils! Damn devils, damn devils, damn devils, damn devils, damn devils, damn devils, damn devils! I want to stomp your revolting organic bodies into briny flesh sludge! I want to throw you all into a meat grinder and turn you into sloshy livestock feed! I want to brutally stab your disgusting tongues with my claws until I can write with your congealed blood! I want to boil you alive in a pressure cooker until your bones turn to ash! I want to squeeze your cadavers until blood leaks from every pore in your skin! I want to slash open the wombs of the parasites that spawned you and watch them writhe under my pedes for their transgressions!"

Three-X blasted over to Two-X and wordlessly took his arm in his own and launched further skyward, hoping to create a bit more distance between themselves and the cognitively bedraggled invader. Feeling the wind whip past his face as his teammate flew him higher and higher, Two-X kept a keen eye on their target below as it continued to yowl insane obscenities and frantically grab at them in vain.

"Three-X?"

"Yes, Two-X?"

"Why have you increased our total altitude by roughly four hundred feet? The pandemonium that is being generated by our quarry is a problem. We will be left in a quandary if it decides to continue southward. Should we not eradicate it before it does so?"

Three-X let go of Two-X, and just as he did, a freezing gust of wind flew past the two, causing them both to shield their faces from the icy blow of oxygen and water. "Because I believe that this Cybertronian may be somewhat valuable to the Director, I want to observe its squirming for a little while longer. It is obvious the beast has no real plan to defeat us, which works out in our favor. It constitutes no substantial threat as long as it is focused on us," Three-X said, peering downward.

The thing was still screaming.

Three-X presumed that it had likely reached its breaking point sometime around two weeks ago since there hadn't been any reports of a roadside serial killer splatter-painting their victims over every highway they traveled across before then. What could have caused its sudden decline in astute mental functionality was anyone's guess; Three-X couldn't be bothered and also wasn't capable of concerning himself with the hiccups of human-slaughtering marauders.

"...Three-X, I do not follow. Proto-matter deposits are at an all-time high. Extracting its raw parts would be unnecessary," said Two-X.

"I said nothing concerning or relating to proto-matter, Two-X. But for further elaboration, I believe the Director could make use of this specimen for experimental purposes. Because Cybertronians are so robust, it makes capturing them a rather laborious task. However, if we make use of the Energon-neutralizer from the cache pod and the portable ground-bridge, then I am certain that we can restrain and transport it to the experimental wing in under five hours. Much is to gain if we take this course of action instead of terminating it outright since Insecticons are quite a rare breed of Cybertronian."

Two-X didn't know what to think of his leader's odd suggestion. It was logical, but something was... _awry_. Their orders had been to kill the Cybertronian, not capture it. Even if obtaining it would prove to be good in the future, it was completely irrelevant since that wasn't what their mission was.

Wanting to voice his objections, Two-X opened his mouth. But he stopped when Three-X leaned into his communicator, ignoring him.

As if it were an accolade, Three-X carefully pushed the covert toggle on his wrist, signaling to the Communications Department that he had something to report. A feminine voice answered the pre-teen boy, and as they spoke and debated the situation at hand, Two-X took another glance below him.

Sure enough, the alien dross was still swiping at them, whining about being all alone and how the fleshies were all going to pay with their lives.

Perhaps the empathetic soldier would have thought something along the lines of, _Yikes. Why not just put it out of its misery?_ Especially as many of them are so terribly fond of filthy animals. But again, like his other kin, Two-X couldn't be bothered to pay it even the tiniest grain of mind.

"Permission granted," Three-X said after a solid few minutes. "We are to extract it from this area and transport it to the base. Two-X, engage the target. Distraction is key. Do not inflict any prominent physical damage, as that will likely enrage it more. The environment has already suffered extensive ruination from its flailing."

Two-X gave a salute, his concerns dissipating with the "Permission granted" part.

Not allowing a single second to go to waste, he took off, more than ready for what was to come.

* * *

"EPPS!" Bumblebee screamed as he clawed at the floor for dear life.

This was the fourth time Epps hadn't answered his call, and with Zero right on top of him, more determined than ever to pinch his face off, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"It's no use," Zero said hard-heartedly, taking in the sad sight before her with a tug pulling at her lips. "He won't come to your aid. There is no way he could do anything to thwart me anyway." Again, her lips tugged upward, and it was then that Bumblebee realized that she was restraining a smile.

A smile!

Zero, _smiling?_

Hell must have frozen over.

"This is Autobot abuse!" he wailed, earning himself a faint chuckle from the woman. Never under any circumstances whatsoever would he have guessed that Zero possessed a roguish side like this. She had already pinched both of his cheeks to the Pit and back, and because she knew he wouldn't fight her, she was getting cocky. But behind the baleful eyes laughing superficially, the taut mech detected a merciless machine calculating whether or not having him in such an exposed position would prove advantageous to her.

"It's all for the betterment of my currently rudimentary understanding of holoforms. Oh, and there's also your face. It's just so _red_. You know, Jett once proclaimed to me that revenge is a joy quite like none other. I'm so used to you busting my escape plans and teasing me that seeing you in such a pathetic position amuses me. Now be a good Autobot and sit still."

"Jett sounds like Satan!" Bumblebee retorted as he tried the comm-link again, absolutely desperate for a reply. She reached out toward him with an almost claw-like hand, and he shut his eyes, bracing himself for what was to come.

 ** _*ZZZzzzt! ZZZzzzt!*_**

Zero stopped and eyeballed her victim's ear. When in his holoform, his comm-link looked like a loose earbud that was lazily stuck in.

"Thank Primus, Epps!" Bumblebee hurrayed, hope filling his spark once again.

 _"Hey. Might I ask why you keep blowing up my phone on my night out?"_

"Epps, you gotta help me!"

 _"Err, do I even want to know?"_

"Just listen for a second. Zero's acting crazy!"

 _"Uh, and?"_

"Wh—? Dude!"

 _"What the hell do you want me to say? Stop the presses? Like for real, when isn't she acting crazy?"_

"Epps, this is serious! She won't stop pinching my cheeks. My face feels like it's five nanokliks away from falling off! Save me!"

 _"...Oh, I get it now,"_ the Sergeant replied, the wavelengths of the channel muddling his voice a bit.

"Really?" Bumblebee said, relieved. Finally, a savior to free him from this—

 _"One time back in my boot camp days, I convinced a dumbass that if you put a penny in a beer bottle and shake it around for a few minutes, it creates a bunch of microfractures that makes the glass super easy to break over your head. Homeboy did it for fifteen minutes and actually tried it, then went to the hospital and got twelve stitches. Hahaha! What a fucking idiot."_

"...What does that have to do with anything at all?!"

 _"You're bullshitting me, so I'm bullshitting you."_

"What the heck makes you think I'm bullshitting you? I'm in legitimate peril here! She's got grabby hands from hell!"

Epps laughed, long and loud. _"You're a funny guy, 'Bee. 'Grabby hands from hell.' Just go make her a bowl of soup or something. Oh yeah, and stop ribbing the poor thing. Maybe then she'll leave you alone."_

"You're blaming me for this?! I'm the victim here! My face, Epps! My face!"

Epps burst into another fit of voluble snickers, his eyes beaming down at his phone screen with unmistakable esteem. _"Ahh, you're killing me. Thanks for ringing me up, man. You hit me right in the giggle-dick. Now, I hate to break it to you, but I'm gonna have to let you go. I'm in the middle of an intense Breaking Bad marathon, and you wouldn't believe what just went down. Walter White is a wild child."_

Bumblebee went cold. "Wait, EPPS—"

 ** _*Click!*_**

 _Fucking Robert._

"I told you it was futile," Zero said patronizingly. "It's a shame the soldier didn't take you seriously."

Bumblebee inhaled a gasp.

"Autobot, I am presenting you with one last chance to voluntarily sacrifice your holoform for the sake of my own scientific betterment."

"Not in a million vorns!"

"So that is the path you have chosen to trek? How very unwise of you."

Bumblebee squinted at Zero, the simulated muscles in his face tightening. While in his holoform, he was infinitely stronger than the average human. But despite that, he didn't want to just lift her off him because he knew that if he did, then she would start chasing him down again.

Of course, he could just faze back into his robot body and give her the proverbial middle finger that way, but he felt that such a course of action would be spineless. Not only was he a prominent scout who had singlehandedly felled dozens of Decepticons, but he was also a leader, and leaders are always supposed to stand tall in the face of evil.

Well, that was Bumblebee's mentality until Zero grabbed both of his cheeks, causing him to yip like a puppy and instantly give up.

He disappeared into a cloud of bright sparks, and Zero fell onto the floor with an uncomfortable _'thump!'_ But before she could properly react to her keeper's lily-livered escape, she was met with the vicious sound of metal clanking against metal, and suddenly, she was enraptured in a familiar yellow grasp.

Lifting Zero up, Bumblebee smirked as she shook and wriggled in his hold.

"Cheating alien! How dare you!?"

 _"How dare **I**?"_

"Yes! What a pathetic, milquetoast levant. Never before have I seen such abject cowardice."

Bumblebee couldn't facilitate it, and with a boastful wink and a confident smile, he said, _"I would hardly dub (static) what I did as cowardice. It was more like (static) a tactful retreat."_

"Excuses."

 _"You're just sore 'cause I ruined your fun."_

"Am not!"

 _"Are too."_

Zero instantly became grumpy and showcased a face like one who had been chewing on a lemon rind. "Hmph! Let me down, Autobot!"

Bumblebee debated this demand, a thought emerging from the abyss of his mind.

With a long measuring look, he noticed how—like always—her face had seemingly returned to its usual token frown. Twitching and wavering, his little thought grew and grew, until finally, like a grisly caterpillar burrowing out of a poisoned apple, it dropped from the back of his unconscious mind and into the forefront of his personal awareness.

A wicked smile spread across his faceplates, making Zero grow crimson with unwanted compunction. She knew what that look meant, for it was the worst, most irritating, most annoying thing she had ever experienced her latter decade of existence.

It was the wretched _teasing_ look.

Lowering her so that she was right beside his thoraxal cavity, Bumblebee drew his digits back like a cobra did before it struck. Catching on to what he was up to, Zero went rigid.

"You wouldn't."

 _"Oh, wouldn't I?"_

"Fine! Fine! If you halt this instant, then I won't squeeze your face so hard next time."

Bumblebee chirped in sadistic pleasure. This was gonna be good. _"It's too late for that now, sugarplum."_

"No, no, no! Listen, we can discuss this. There is no need to be so rash," said Zero, her eyes gaping with peculiar emotions she couldn't place.

 _"Sorry, but I'm afraid this is the only way."_

No sooner had he uttered those words, the 'bot inched his servo closer, shooting it down quickly but tenderly, barely giving Zero a chance to prepare herself. Bursting into explosive laughter, she wriggled and squirmed beneath his playful hold, trying in vain to tell him off in between vigorous tickles.

Continuing the onslaught, Bumblebee moved to her underarms, and then to her sides. This area seemed to ignite the loudest squeak of them all, and he just knew that this must have been her weak spot.

"Autobot—hahaha! You will—hahaha! Pay for this—hahaha!"

The giant robot raised his doorwings with glee and decided he would try switching his tactics a bit. Moving away from her sides, he instead targeted her neck, absolutely relishing in the melodious laughter that left her magnificently winsome countenance.

It was the first time he had ever heard her laugh, and he had to admit, it was rather beautiful.

It was a sound that made his spark sing.


	18. The ABCs of Karmic Misery

Maybe you have a person like Jett Sterling in your life.

 _Hey, kids! I'm Jett, and I'm such a hero! I go out of my way to help kidnapped damsels in distress even though they don't deserve it because they were the ones who got themselves into their mess in the first place! Aren't I soooo charitable? I save kittens that get stuck up trees and visit my nagging hag of a wrinkled egg-donor once every six months! I also indulge myself in the liberal art of waving my fat checks in front of my friends' faces because I like to share. Sharing is caring! Yay!_

Hold up.

Sorry, but did I just say _Jett Sterling_? Gahahaha! Pardon me, I can be such a silly goose sometimes. No, what I meant to say is maybe you have a complete donkeyfuck of a slave-driver who gobs on hot kebabs of vasectomy leftovers while he sits upon his throne of five thousand dollar bills in New York City, all while you have to go out of your way to organize his miserable fuckfest of a robot rescue party with your succubus whore of an ex-girlfriend.

But hey, that's just how it has to be, right? When the world goes to shit and the universe decides to act like a blazing cuntmuffin of rusty nails and horse feces, someone's gotta deal with the brunt of it. Whether it be starving African children, Middle-Eastern women who are still treated like birthing machines in 2027, or a sad homeless guy rotting on a gonorrhea-infested curb in the hood, there always has to be suffering for every fat cat who's living it large in the Bahamas where pussy literally grows on trees. And for whatever bullshit reason, instead of targeting any of those pathetic fuckers, these last few months the universe just had to pick me.

Hi there. I'm Nikolai Borscheman, and I welcome you to my world—a world of grave injustice, drunken debauchery, and whatever other shitty thing you can think of that exists in this Christ-forsaken incubus of a life.

But let's forget about me for a second, seeing as I'm not a narcissist who gets off on talking about himself or anything. No, what I'd rather talk about is a wholesome thing called karma. Karma, my beloved reader, is nothing more than a steaming pile of complete and utter dog shit. Allow me to provide you with some brief real-life examples that I, being the ever-so-good soul that I am, have had to deal with throughout the course of my thirty-five-year-long lifespan.

* * *

 **Exhibit A** : Just last week I was working at my bar, wiping off the glass like a good bartender does while my faithful alcoholics got themselves situated.

Of course, while I'm standing there minding my own business, a lovely lady walks in and takes a seat right at the counter. Straight away, this sounds pretty excellent, no? Hot chick strolls in with a burgundy V-cut dress, a seductive neediness that radiated off of her in droves, and a godlike set of pillowy knockers that were bigger than my will to live.

 _Hooray, boobies!_

Yeah, no.

Tell me why she orders cosmo after fucking cosmo until she gets completely sloshed, so much so that she then passes out on the fucking bartop.

Okay, great. Now I'm gonna have to wipe it off again. Oh, and I have to figure out who the fuck she is so I can call an Uber or something. So I peek over the counter, and, um, tell me why her fucking purse is lying on the ground, half spilled out?

I exhale because I'm a calm man (a _very_ calm man, mind you) and pull it off the floor and search for her wallet. Badda bing, badda boom! I whip out her driver's license and get the name. Awesome. But you see, there is a bit of a problem. As I'm looking through this wallet, I encounter nothing at all in the way of cash. Not even a fucking penny. Not awesome.

So there I am, left in a bit of an unfortunate predicament. Not only did this woman slurp up a million gallons worth of my booze and pass out on my counter like a pre-suicide Marilyn Monroe, but she was also a broke ass bitch.

In the end, that night ended with a lot of screaming, a whole lot of death threats, a slap to the face, and no payment whatsoever. And did karma kick in and deliver me my just desserts? No, because the stupid slut didn't get pulverized by an oncoming Peterbilt when she stumbled out onto the gaslit street.

Damn it all.

* * *

 **Exhibit B** : Now this is a story from my days of old.

Twelve years back, before the Cemetery Wind faggotry, when Jeanette and I were still dating one another and traveling the world to meet up with potential work collaborators, we got a little bit lost in the fiery shithole known as Kili in the Bikini fucking Atoll. God, I hate that place. Hotter than the fucking dickens, it is.

Wait, _dickens_?

What the hell?

Dickens.

Dickens~

Dickens?

DICKENS!

Ugh, just listen to that word. Rancid.

Anywho, I was sweating my ballsack off when someone finally decided to take up our hitch-hiking offer. Climbing in the car with a porker of a Pakistani dude who did not appear unlike a convicted child molester I once saw on CNN, the three of us set off without an isolated care in the world.

Back in those days, since Jeanette and I weren't trying to claw each other's throats out over every tiny thing, we actually managed to start up a non-vitriolic conversation. I know, crazy.

"Hey, Niko. I'm dying of heatstroke right now," she said ruefully, wiping her brow off with the lacey ruffle of her flowery sundress.

"You're telling me," I replied tartly, equally as miserable. "This car is a fucking death trap. My face is literally melting off. Who fired the nukes to fuck up the climate so bad? This cannot be natural."

Jeanette pressed her forehead against the driver's seat, fanning her face with her hand. It was a feeble attempt at cooling herself off; I could tell that the general exertion of moving her limb back and forth was making her sweat even more.

"Ugh, I know what you mean. You could crack an egg and fry it on the asphalt, I bet. And who knows how much longer we're going to be out here since the directions we were given were all wrong. Like, what the hell? You would think that the locals would be useful for that shit."

"Right? Fuck them for screwing us over. The pricks are probably all having a laugh right now for sending the ignorant foreigners off into the middle of the trackless desert. You would think that these slug-slurping bozos would actually show some cohesion, seeing how we liberated them from their uncultured, swinelike existence of carving out sand dunes and cannibalizing each other when the Yanks and Frogs did their H-bomb tests in the fifties."

"I couldn't agree more, darling. And after their contemptuous laugh, they're probably going to go fuck some sacrificial goats for the after-party."

I immediately guffawed. Oh, my beloved Jeanette of the ancient past! Once upon a time, she truly was the perfect woman for me.

But much to my dismay at the time, my merry chortles of outraged innocence were interrupted by our unwitting chauffeur, whose face had turned completely damask from rage. "Will you two shut up!?" he screamed. "I can tolerate you mouthing off about the excessive heat, but my husband is a native here! How dare you say such uncouth things?!"

Jeanette and I looked at each other, surprised.

"...Husband?" I questioned warily.

"Yes, husband."

My eyes trailed down to what I had previously assumed were an odd pair of finely cupped man-tits. And then reality practically flogged me. _Whoops._

"Oh, so you're gay then?" Jeanette reserved, innocently batting her lashes as she did so. "That's excellent. I love progressive couples. But you don't fuck goats, right?"

My hands immediately clammed up. Jeanette didn't realize that the driver was actually a woman, the dumb cunt.

The car screeched to a stop. "Excuse me?!" said driver boomed as they latched onto the seat with two monstrously hairy hands. "Get out, the both of you. Right now!"

"Woah, woah, woah! Hold on, just relax," I eased, trying to cover for Jean's brainless flub.

"No! I don't want to hear it! Leave!"

Alright, screw trying to be the good guy. This person was obviously off their rocker.

"Gimme a fucking break!" I yelled, paltry annoyance pettifogging me. "It's way too hot out there for you to boot us out. Can't you just keep on driving?"

"No. Get out."

Jeanette puckered her bottom lip. "But—"

"Get. Out."

And then Jeanette cracked. "...You know what, fuck you, you oinking mound of mephitic sluice chunks! I am a free woman in the Bikini Atoll, and I refuse to be left behind in this malarial dust heap of a radiation lockout!"

The giant woman screamed and flew out of the car, and instantly began targeting the back doors.

Shit, she really was going to throw us out to the dogs, thought I. But then I had a stroke of wicked genius that would have made Einstein himself grovel at my feet in messiah-esque awe. Climbing over the seats and hitting the safety lock, I managed to imprison ourselves just in time before the mutant had the chance to fling us out. Our frustrated driver went ballistic, pounding on the windows and such, and I went to Jeanette, whose eyes were as big as saucers.

"N-N-Nikolai!" she stammered, actually kind of afraid of the ogre that was threatening to knock the car chassis in.

But unlike my past lover, I was calm. _Collected._ Crawling into the driver's seat, I started the ignition and gaped forward with determination coursing through my veins. God, I might as well have been James fucking Bond—the badassness was so surreal.

"Jean, I'm gonna need you to do exactly as I say, alright?" I said hurriedly. "Everything is going to be fine. Now get out your iPhone and capture a few seconds of our driver going apeshit. That way, when we find the nearest cop, we can provide proof of what happened."

Jeanette did as I asked.

"Got the footage?"

"Sure did, but the cop is gonna ask how it all started. What should I say? That the person was trying to frick me and you valiantly fought 'em off?"

"That sounds perfect. And also say that she wouldn't stop talking in length about fucking goats. And not just goats, but lambs, because that would be even more wrong. Beastiality is a big no-no."

"You got it, chief."

"Alright, time to fly."

I pulled the shift and peeled out of there, leaving our failed abortion of a motorist all alone in the middle of god knows where.

Now, let's go back to karma. Where does karma come in? Well, you'd think that we'd already had our karma, what with stealing the cunt's car and stranding her out in Gehenna for threatening to do the same to us. But you see, that isn't how it went down exactly.

A couple of hours of aimless driving later, I ended up procuring a speeding ticket, and much to my fucking horror, who did I see sitting in the back of the cop car?

Yeah, take a wild fucking guess.

Instead of getting pecked away by a pack of eight-headed vultures, the sub-human monstrosity got scooped up by a donut-masticating cop out on armed patrol.

And when she saw me, I got punched square in the snout.

Fucking karma. It's bullshit, I swear.

* * *

 **Exhibit C** : And now I present you with my most recent intermission of unjust pain and suffering, as this one took place exactly one day ago.

I was laying vertical on my bar counter, buttering up one of my soon-to-be partners in crime for Jett when Jeanette rang me up, forcing me to put the other guy on hold. I rolled over and stared at my back door, contemplating as to whether or not I should take a hit of clout before subjecting myself to the witch's Mephistophelean spellcasting.

 _"Darling? Do you have any updates?"_ she asked, and right then, I decided that I wouldn't be able to handle this chaste little tête-à-tête without some granular courage.

While practically leaping towards the overhead door, I said, "Yeah, except you made me put him on hold."

Jeanette dispersed a breath that was protracted and heavy, and I could easily picture the stress lines creasing her forehead.

 _"Is that so? Well, I guess I'll leave you to it. Unless you're lying, that is."_

I immediately darted into the back. Come to papa!

 _"Niko? Hey, Nikolai? Are you still there?"_

I started sifting through my collection of bags and boxes and reached my hand downwards, hoping to fish out some good glory. But when I did, I felt a violent, concentrated pain run up my finger that made me jerk back like a rocketship. "Augh! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I sibilated, glowering down at my index as a fountain of red shot out of it.

I could hear the sound of Jeanette fumbling the phone in her hands, which I figured was due to my spontaneous shouting. Jamming my finger in my mouth, I sucked off the blood and began looking for what had jabbed me so badly. I moved a few bags of the devil's lettuce and whatever the fuck else out of sight, and my stomach started to turn when I saw a needle sitting at the bottom.

Sweet baby Jesus.

"A needle!" I shrieked, falling on my ass as frantic terror stiffened my otherwise flaccid muscles.

 _"A needle?"_ Jeanette repeated. _"What the hell are you on about? Are you high on heroin right now?"_

"I just got pricked by a needle, thank you very much! And you know damn well that heroin is way out of my league these days!"

 _"Why am I not surprised? Have fun catching HIV, butter-bean. I can't say it was nice knowing you, but, oh well."_

"You fecal-scented golem," I cursed, desperately hunting for the bag that the needle had come out of. It took a hot second, but after pulling several boxes back and sucking on my violated phalange every so often, I finally stumbled across the paraphernalia I was hoping to find.

It was a ziplock bag, and inside of it was a whole collection of syringes. I molded it over, and my anxious worries evaporated into nothing when I read the heavenly word that had been printed across the forefront.

 _ **STERILE.**_

A.k.a. _**UNUSED.**_

Good fucking Christ, yes! I had left the thing half-open, and one of them must've rolled out. Throwing the ziplock to the side, I explained my findings to Jeanette. And after doing so, I hung up and switched back to my previous caller.

Pedro's a dark-skinned guy who ran off to the edge of New Mexico to escape some charges in California. I met and got friendly with him several years prior at a casino in Albuquerque. In propria persona, he had a gut-snarlingly terrifying face. He'd been shipped off to Afghanistan way back in 2001 and had suffered the life-altering repercussions of being caught up in a grenade attack that ultimately shredded his puss into nubbins. But other than that, he's a decent enough dude. Or about as decent as an ex-military drug cartel leader can be.

Yeah, he sorta kinda fucked a lot of people up in his day, but on the bright side, I wasn't on his hit list.

"Yo," I greeted casually. "Sorry about that. Ex called."

 _"Nikolai!"_ he cheered, his voice as smooth as butter. _"Glad you're back. Now, business time. You were talking about reward money, yes?"_

"Yeah, profits are hefty with this case. I'd have to ring it up with Jett—er, my boss, but I'm sure we could work something out."

 _"Good, good, good. But Nikolai, if I am going to assist you, I do have one more condition."_

Aaaaaaaaand here comes the ransom. Cartel leaders, man. What can you do with them?

"One more condition? Like...?"

 _"Hm, yeah, well I'm not exactly a fan of working out major deals like this over the tele, see? Bad experiences. Traumatic experiences. And though I know you wouldn't necessarily try to pull a fast one on me, I'm not exactly familiar with the man in charge you're talking about."_

"Ugh, get on with it. I don't have all fucking day."

 _"Dick. As I was saying, I like doing shit in person. Fly over to New Mexico, show me the receipts, and then we'll talk."_

"You're joking."

 _"Nyet. I'm totally serious."_

"No. I'm not going to bust my balls buying a flight ticket to New Mexico so I can have a conversation with you."

 _"Hm... I dunno what to tell you then, Nik."_

"Come on, stop being unreasonable. This doesn't have to be a chore."

 _"Nope. I've said my piece. It's my way or the highway."_

"You fucker. You know I hate airplanes!"

 _"Life is a shitstorm you're never prepared to weather. That is my only condition. Take it or leave it."_

Okay, now I was left in a bit of a pickle. Let me explain why.

Airplanes suck. Like, a lot.

And not just airplanes, but the faggots you get to sit next to for hours and hours on end. Oh, and the psychological warfare that is scheduling. And turbulence. And passive-aggressive flight attendants. And flabbergeists that can't fit into their seat properly. And possible death threats. And potentially passed-out pilots. And the gutter-swill that is airplane food. And—

Actually, nevermind. I could run my mouth about this bull for miles.

 _"So? What's the answer?"_ my affiliate asked sarcastically.

I soughed, massaging my temples as I switched the phone to speaker. "Okay, look—how about we just do this over video chat? That way, you get your face-to-face confirmation and I don't have to go over to New Mexico."

 _"Nope, sorry. I'll only do it in person. No compromise can be made. If you want my help, you'll have to show me the receipts in real life."_

"Rrghhh..."

And so that was basically that. We went around in circles for a while, arguing back and forth until finally I just gave up. Trying to haggle with guys like Pedro is impossible. Energy vampires like him know exactly what they are doing when they give you the runaround because they've been sucking people's souls out for decades. And I'll admit, as much as I would like to say that I can withstand it, I really can't. That was the price I had to pay after getting into a relationship with Jean. She ruined my patience.

And continuing onward with patience, I bring you to this scene:

So there I am, Nikolai Borscheman: Patience Extraordinaire, standing at the business-class checkout counter when I feel a rough tap on my shoulder. I didn't even have to turn around to figure out that it was Jeanette. The intense scent of her cinnamon-apple perfume might as well be cauterized into my fucking nostrils at this point.

"It's about time, dear. Had you been a second late, I would've left you behind," I trilled with the most chipper mien I could muster.

"Go fuck yourself, Nikolai," the wench seethed as she yanked out a tube of Jeffree Star lipstick from her Louis Vuitton clutch.

I probed Jeanette up and down and was a bit shocked when I realized just how awful she looked. Her usual curly red hair was frizzy and thrown up into a ratty bun, her business suit had dryer creases all over it, her milky white foundation wasn't as opaque as it should've been, and a few buttons leading down her chest were undone at random points, almost acting as a sort of icing on top of the shitcake that was her overall appearance. It was painfully obvious that she'd had a rough morning, and me, being the loving ex that I am, decided to say something about it. "Bloody hell, Jean. You look like shit in a litterbox. Did one of your many fuckbuddies go too hard on you last night?"

Just as Jeanette began applying a fresh coat of the shade _'Candyass,'_ her entire body went as stiff as a scarecrow. Capping the feminine doohickey and sliding it back into her clutch, she gifted me with what I can only describe as the creepiest, most hair-raisingly sweet smile I have ever seen in my life. It stretched from ear-to-ear, her eyes thinned into tiny slits, and I figured right at that moment that I probably shouldn't have said that.

Oh, how little did I know...

She covered her mouth with a gloved hand and laughed to herself. Meanwhile, I felt a chill run down my spine. "Hmhmhm. Good joke, darling. But let's not do this right now, okay? Jett told me that I had to accompany you on this little trip to the boonies last minute, and I think you and I both know that pissing me off isn't the best idea. Especially after the whole Walmart debacle that left you stranded on the street a few weeks ago."

 ** _*Ding!*_**

I looked over my shoulder, and the teller at the counter handed me a slip of paper with a disgusted look on her face. "Here you are, sir. You will be seated in 9K."

9K. Remember that.

After robbing my position in front of the counter, Jean got all of her crap figured out as well, and before we both knew it, we were boarding the plane to Albuquerque International.

I was far from the last person to get on the craft, and as I scuttled my happy ass through the stomach-churning rabbit warren of poor people and crying children, I felt superhuman. Here I was, standing in first-class with who knows how many loaded sugar mamas that were single and ready to mingle, all while those fucking losers behind me made themselves comfortable in the cesspool that was coach.

As I skimmed the seats for 9K, I briefly locked my sights with Jean, who had successfully located her seat and had already sat down. Not thinking much of our chance glance, I continued searching for my spot with a perfectly chilled-out look on my face.

4K: Full.

5K: Empty.

6K: Empty.

7K: Empty.

8K: Full.

9K: Full.

Wait, what?

I did a double-take, wanting to make sure that I wasn't just imagining things. But sure enough, sat in my seat was a forty-something-year-old black woman who looked like she deep-throated Marlboros instead of dicks on her nights out.

"Hey," I said, stopping beside what should have been my pew. "Miss? Hey, miss? You're in the wrong seat. I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to ask you to move."

The woman, who had been scrolling through her phone, looked up to me with a confused look on her face. "Quoi?"

"Yeah, I need you to get up. You're in my spot, so..."

She brushed her palms together. "Je suis désolée, monsieur. Mais je comprends pas ce que vous m'a dites."

"Uhh, what the fuck?"

"Attendez, vous venez de jurer sur moi?"

"Miss, I don't know what you are saying. Just get out of my damn seat."

"Monsieur, je ne sais pas ce que vous voulez de moi. Partez s'il vous plait."

Okay, now my egocentristic forbearance was starting to crack. And it didn't help that from the corner of my eye, I could see Jeanette staring me down as I squirmed for conversation with this foreign pest.

"Omigod, can you please just fuck off? This is my seat. 9K. Do you understand me? Mine, not yours, mine!"

The woman took in a sharp breath and clutched her phone tightly against her chest as I continued to raise my voice. "Arrête ça! Tu commences à me faire peur!"

"I. Don't. Understand. You. Move it or lose it, Frenchy!"

"HEY! HEY! WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!"

Right on cue with the bellow, the seat-leech and I turned our heads down the aisle in unison. It had come from a man even more muscular and bearish than Jett, and as he marched towards me, I felt the plane shake.

"You," he pretty much hawked, stopping just a few inches in front of me.

Shit, he was airport security. "Yeah? What?"

"Explain."

I picked a piece of lint from my sleeve and said, "Well, the thing is that this woman is in my spot."

" _Your_ spot?"

"Yes, 9K. She won't move, despite my best efforts."

He gave me a snappy nod. Then he turned over to her and asked, "And you?"

"Répète ça?"

"Ah, a French speaker. My bad. Pourriez-vous me dire ce qui s'est passé?"

My jaw hit the fucking floor. He could speak French? Thank the universe for giving me this gift! Now he could tell her to piss off and—

"Sir, according to this woman, you have been harassing her for about three minutes now. She is adamant that this is her seat, and _you_ are the one who is mistaken."

Hold the phone, when did they finish their conversation? "Uh, what? Yeah, no. This is mine. I paid for it and everything!"

"Sir, please lower your voice. Keep in mind that we are in a public space."

"Hah, lower my fucking voice? Hello, pot—meet kettle. Two seconds ago you were screaming like ISIS had an acid tub to your head."

"Sir, language. There are ladies present."

"Ladies? Who the fuck cares!? I say what I want when I want."

"Sir—"

"Fuckitty-fuck-fuck-fuck. I want to talk to whoever's in charge!"

"Sir, you are acting rather impertinent. Might I ask if you have had anything to drink this evening?"

My eyes bulged out of their sockets. This miserable cocksucker did not just go there.

"Hmm, interesting response," he commented, reaching for his walkie-talkie.

"Hey, what're you—?"

"Sir, I think I'm going to have to take you with me."

"WHAT?! Now hold the fuck on here—!"

"Please come with me in a calm and orderly fashion, and then—"

"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! This is MY SEAT. How fucking dare you accuse me of—!"

 _ ***ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZAAAPPP!***_

* * *

Okay, so I bet you are wondering what the fuck happened.

Well, to cut a long story short, the bastard tased me. Yeah, you read that right. TASED ME. I swear to god I'll kill him. But not only him, oh no, but that French cum-guzzler and that castrating banshee bitch, Jean, too. Because, you see, after I was oh so graciously fucked in the ass by the Transportation Security Administration, Jeanette followed behind the officers as they dragged my paralyzed corpse away, babbling on about how I had been sexually harassing her at the checkout counter, getting me even deeper in shit than I already was before.

And so with all that being said, that leaves me in the now. I am currently writing all of this down in the wholesome confines of an airport holding cell, surrounded by a tribe of bearded varlets that probably got busted for smuggling doobies out of the state through their arseholes.

Earlier I was talking about karma, and how it is all a load of crap and blah, blah, _blah._

Yeah, well, here you go.

Because if this tale isn't proof that the bad guys always get away with their shit, then I don't know what is.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _ **1.) Bikini Atoll is an atoll in the Marshall Islands which surrounds a central lagoon. Within Bikini Atoll, Bikini, Eneu, Namu and Enidrik islands comprise just over 70% of the land area. Bikini and Eneu are the only islands of the atoll that hosted a permanent population. Bikini Island is the largest islet. The atoll is known for the nuclear testing the United States conducted on it during the 1940s and 1950s, before which the indigenous population was removed. (Wikipedia)**_

 _ **2.) Puss: Another word for a person's face or mouth. Yes, really. **_

**_3.) I don't speak French, so I am more than certain that I screwed up a few sentences back there._**


	19. Failed Villainy

Jett's brain was teetering on the brink of deliquescence.

The news that Niko had been tased and apprehended by airport security for acting like an idiot was honestly making him re-think a lot of his life choices, particularly those involving him making nice with Cemetery Wind's most infamously dysfunctional nightmare couple.

At the start of the whole ordeal, the phone calls came like a fleet of locusts from Niko. And Jeanette, who didn't care enough to mention the incident right after it happened, instead went off to Pedro's place by herself and secured the deal without her ex's reinforcement.

Listening to Niko carp over the phone about how he'd been wrongfully screwed over made Jett's head throb. And as he noncommittally flipped through his wallet, fumbling over his collection of Visas and Mastercards, he began weighing his options.

The first thing that came to mind was that he could be a trusty friend and help Niko out, effectively regaining a tremendous asset to his cause and radically increasing his ill chances of achieving his overriding raison d'être. But the second thing that came to mind was that Niko was an unbearable dingbat, and he didn't have a single doubt that he deserved whatever had happened to him on the airplane.

Given Niko's general etiquette, Jett reckoned that he ended up pissing off the wrong person in first-class and got himself into shit that way, but it was hard for him to pin down a specific scenario in his imagination.

Niko was renowned to every Jack and Jill in the vicinity for being the most egregious bag of scum the world has ever seen—but then again, there was also Jeanette to consider. While Niko may have been vulgar schlemiel, Jeanette was Machiavellian and fulsome. Like her ex, she too was pretty awful in her own way, and the more Jett thought about it, the more he became convinced that she had some part in Niko's ultimate incarceration.

The reality that she had sealed the concordat with Niko's sketchball of a buddy was probably the most suspicious thing out of the fascicle of dodgy information he had been smacked upside the head with, and given the adverse state of affairs, she had been way too cheerful. Since her uncanny forte for inflicting psychological duress onto others was something he was no stranger to, he assumed that she likely ended up doing something that either caused the whole ruckus to start in the first place, or she worked from the opposing sidelines, offering little bits and pieces of unspoken middle fingers to Niko before watching him get carted off to who knows where with a horrible grin on her face.

Jett slapped his wallet onto the desk in front of him, then went about twisting one of the many rings that decorated his hands. He was tired—not just of Niko and Jeanette's neverending feud of acerbity and emotional baggage, but of everything that had shepherded him to this bête noire in the first place. The only thing he wanted was Zero. He wanted her to be with him again—safe and sound and far, _far_ away from any robot aliens or whatever else that was currently endangering her life. He wanted to sit down, have strange talks, poke fun at, and have stupid eating competitions with her again. But most importantly, he wanted to go back to teaching her the seemingly obvious do's and don'ts of being a person, all while working jointly with her to fashion the Earth into a safer place by taking care of the Cybertronian disease that plagued it.

The Director may have assigned Zero to him as his partner, but after two hectic years, Jett considered his role to be a lot more than that. Like Niko had said, he'd gotten attached. No outsider could ever really get the feeling he felt towards the girl because they comprised a mixture of many things. Hope that she retained the capacity to change. Pity, because of the dire circumstances that led her to become to be what she was. Remorse, because the undervalued company he would lay his life down for was responsible for her dehumanization. And finally, love. Niko wasn't fundamentally incorrect when he said that he loved Zero. It wasn't a romantic or even a familial type of love—no, it was more complicated than that, and no matter how long or how hard he thought about it, he could never really pinpoint or section it into a specific category. All he knew for sure was that Zero was his favorite person. She was not just his partner, but his Angel as well—his peculiar Angel who had somehow wormed her way into his prosaic, work-oriented life and provided him with something to look forward to every day.

Jett stifled a wave of unpleasant emotions and reached for his phone. Pedantic and ruminative, he went straight to his contact list and scrolled towards the 'J' section. He had to call Jeanette up again to figure out some of the finer details pertaining to the whole Niko problem. Also, he was plotting. Because he didn't want to have to deal with the issue himself, he was hoping he could somehow get away with forcing her to do it for him.

Tapping his phone's recently cracked screen and sticking it into the crook of his neck, he listened to its buzz and passively awaited Jean's answer.

 ** _*Click!*_**

 _"Hello?"_

A bemused smile dangled from the corner of Jett's mouth as he said, "How goes it, Jean?"

 _"Oh, it's you…"_ she said, dejected. _"I looked away from the caller I.D. hoping it might've been someone else, but it looks like my hope was in vain, huh?"_

Jett settled into his seat and propped his clunky boots up on his desk, making himself cozy. He knew that Jeanette knew what he was going to talk about, and chances were he was going to be caught up in conversation for a while because of it. "That's not a very nice greeting, is it?"

 _"Don't patronize me. You know this is annoying enough as it is."_

"Hey now, you were there. I'm sure you could've preserved us both this hassle by helping out our beloved friend Nikolai instead of doing fuck all and wasting both my time and money."

 _"But Jetttt!"_ she cried, drawing his name out like a toddler would when they were being scolded. _"You don't get it because you don't know everything that happened. He totally deserved it!"_

"Is that so?" he said, now feeling a bit more serious. "Then how about you do me a favor that he hasn't and tell me what the hell went down. For all the monitored phone calls he's been making out to me from the airport, he hasn't explained anything. All he says is that he was snaked, and I quote, 'You and your disgusting whore mouth were partially to blame.'"

 _"Really? Niko said that? Christ, h_ _e's such a damn crybaby. No wonder why his mother left him for the dogs."_

"He sure is."

 _"Ugh, well since he can't take a lick of responsibility for his actions, I guess I have no choice but to spill it."_

"It's about time," Jett said as his nose went about its established routine of wrinkling in distaste.

And so Jeanette did. As she went about explaining her more embellished side of the story to Jett, she was conscientious about leaving out the more incriminating details about herself, like how she had purposely gone out of her way to say that Niko had been sexually harassing her and whatnot.

Jett listened intently, his forehead slowly puckering into a frown the more Jeanette talked.

By the end of the diegesis, every nuance of his face screamed frustration, and whatever sentimentality he had for Niko's innocence vanished like a slate wiped clean.

"Go figure Niko would have actively gone out his way to be a simp to the woman in his seat," he said, not bothering to conceal his annoyance.

 _"That's my darling for you. Just when you think he can't go any lower, he still somehow manages to drop the bar~"_

Jett scratched the back of his head. "True. Aside from his schizoid personality, the dude has a face that begs to be slugged. In a way, he's kind of like a monkey—loud and obnoxious and constantly throwing shit in your face. It makes me wonder how he got so friendly with so many people over the years—including you, Jean. Care to recount those events?"

Jeanette stared at her iPhone with hawk eyes and flashed a roguish grin that exposed even pearly teeth. _"Maybe some other time. But sweetheart, you don't even know. When the guy wants to, he can be as slick as a saliva-coated fleshlight. It's only after he scopes you out that he lets his true dreadful self out to play."_

"For the five long years I've known Nik, he's always been a snot-nosed brat."

 _"Well, I've known him for twelve, so trust me when I say that the crotchety wazzock has an alter-ego. Its like night and day."_

"Huh, interesting. Well, Jean, I think it's high time we stopped bullshitting each other and just got to the point. Niko's bail. When you get back from Albuquerque, I'm going to need you to manage that whole nightmare factory in my stead. I have other shit I need to be worrying about."

 _"But I don't want to! Can't you just hire someone else to do it for you?"_

"Nah."

 _"Nah?!"_

"It's too much of a pain. You already know where to go and how to get there, so it's more manageable for me if you do just it."

 _"You must be joking. Jett, I fucking despise Nikolai. Why in the nine hells do you think having us in constant proximity of each other is a good idea? What about my emotional pain?!"_

"Cool it, Jean. All I'm asking is that you go and collect him. I'll be supplying you the money for the bail, so it's not like you're really losing anything here."

 _"Not really losing anything here?_ _What about my will to live? Every second I'm around him, I want to slash my throat out!"_

"Sucks, but you're gonna do it whether you like it or not."

 _"And what makes you think that?"_

"I'll dock your pay."

The line went dead silent.

Amusement flickered over Jett's features as he looped his fingers through his belt buckle. He could picture the bewildered look on Jeanette's face, and it was hilarious.

 _"...I'm sorry, what?"_

"You heard me loud and clear."

 _"No way. You're bluffing!"_

"Am I? I dunno. Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

 _"..."_

"Go get Niko, Jean."

 _"No."_

"Jean—"

 _"I refuse!"_

"Quit acting like a fucking child and just agree to go get him already. Don't you want that new Gucci handbag? Because if you tell me no one more time, you won't be purchasing it anytime soon."

Jeanette began nervously chewing on her fingernails and drew into a mutinous pout.

"The handbag, Jean. The handbag."

 ** _"..."_**

"You can't be a queen if you've got no green."

 _"...Aarrghh! FINE! I'll go get Niko, you fucking extortionist!"_

Jett's lips contorted into a wicked smile, and he chuckled lowly from the vicious jab. He didn't know why, but he was getting an odd sense of déjà vu from being called an extortionist. It was rather bizarre—surely no one had called him that before?

"I'm delighted by your cooperation, Jean. You are such a loyal friend."

 _"Get bent."_ Jeanette moved her thumb over the hangup icon. _"I'm so done your crap. Sayonara, dear. It was an awful chat."_

"Aww, really? Don't be like that."

 _"Goodbye, Jett."_

"But Jeannnn—"

 _"Goodbye, Jett!"_

Jeanette ended the call, and Jett broke out into a paroxysm of frenzied snickers that made his chest ache.

Being a villain was kind of fun.

* * *

 **Several Days Later...**

* * *

"This fucking sucks," Niko mithered as he gazed at the raindrops as they ran down the outside of the window.

"For you or me? Because I'd say that I have it a whole lot worse right now," said Jett, very much displeased by the week's turn of events. "I can't believe Jean got into a fender bender. Now I'm the one who has to suffer. Heck, I was feeling pretty high and mighty after telling her I was gonna dock her pay, too. At least she went through the trouble of bailing you out first, so now all I gotta do is drive you back."

"Oh fuck you, Jett. In case you need a reminder, you weren't the one who was held hostage inside an airport holding cell for seven fucking days. Do you even have a single idea as to what it was like? The whole fucking room smelled like piss, and on top of that, I had to share it with like four other dudes who exuviated beard hairs like a pack of mangey Shih Tzus. So don't you sit here and tell me life sucks more for you, you fucking scumbag."

Jett clicked his blinker on, not terribly narked by Niko's petty insult. He'd heard it all a million times before, so he didn't really care. "Hey, Nik. I've been curious about something for a long time now."

"Ugh, what?"

"Is it possible for you to go a single sentence without saying the word 'fucking'? Because maybe the guards wouldn't have taunted you so much if you actually demonstrated some solidarity, and I dunno, _remorse_ for being such an ass-clown. It's just a thought, really."

"...Jett, is it possible for you to go a single day of your useless life without acting like a more autistic version of Mr. Bean? Seriously, where do you of all people get off acting like some kind of saint? If I want to say fucking, then I'll say fucking as much as I damn well please."

"Hey, I'm just trying to be a good person. Had you not been such a jerk-off that woman on the plane, none of this would've happened."

Niko sunk into his seat. "As if! And you act like what happened was my fault or something. Do you think I wanted that bird in my seat? Do you think I wanted Jeanette to tag along and shove a piping hot cup of dicks down my throat? All I was trying to do was get in my rightful spot in first-class, but like always, some bullshit just had to come in and rain on my parade. I didn't do jack diddly squat."

Jett came to a graceful pivot at an open runaround. "...This is what I mean, Nik. Aside from having a festering ego that stretches from the moon and back, you also have a raging persecution complex and no self-awareness to balance any of it out."

"Wait, _ego_?! Persecution complex?!"

"God, just listen. What I essentially mean is that maybe if you stopped being a cunt to the world, then maybe the world would stop being a cunt to you. That is all."

Niko was stunned beyond belief. "...Wow. Just wow. That's a low blow right there."

"The truth hurts."

"Hehe, yeah. I'll remember you said that. And the next time you need my help, I'll be sure to slam the door in your face."

"Really? Don't be a tool now."

"Me? A tool? How cruel. Well, whatever. Just make sure you don't ask me for any favors in the future."

"And now you're triggered. Well, if you want to play the blackmail game, then fine. Next time you get arrested or wrapped up in one of Jean's schemes, I'll be sure to leave you to rot in a jail cell instead of helping you out."

Niko bit down on his tongue, hard. He had nothing to say, because, despite Jett's undisturbed demeanor, he knew that his threat was legit. Slumping against the door with his arms pressed against his chest, he withdrew into a glunch and went back to watching the scenery pass.

The zig-zaggy way Mother Nature's tears trickled down from on high bewitched him, and he found himself picking out specific droplets and cheering for them to reach the bottom of the window first.

And after a few minutes of this, it became a full-on championship in his mind.

The droplet he had his sights on was perfectly cylindrical and magnificently transparent to the eye. He called it Blue Comet, and right now it was facing off against Summer Sky in the Waterdrop Rally. They were in the blocks and ready to go. In the beginning, Dragon's Egg had the lead and looked to be coasting easy towards the finish, but he mistakenly took the low-line and merged head-on into Slimer. Neither stood a chance, but considering how far ahead Dragon's Egg had initially been, Niko had assumed that he would pull through.

 _Heh. What a fucking amateur._

Black Knight and Rastafarian were right at the neck. But unbeknownst to the two, Blue Comet and Summer Sky were creeping up behind them.

Summer Sky was starting to piss Niko off with the constant tailgating, and it made him wonder just what his plot was.

Would he try to merge with Blue Comet like Dragon's Egg had with Slimer? Dragon's Egg's merge with Slimer had been a complete accident- Niko would know because he was a primary witness to it. But unlike those two, if Summer Sky merged with Blue Comet, then he would be sure to call him out on the assault. Suddenly the speed picked up, and Black Knight found himself behind Rastafarian and Michelangelo once they reached a fork in the glass. Summer Sky went high but came down flat, and Blue Comet swooped over and rested tepidly behind him. They were up to the hairpin, and now with the end goal nearly in sight, the stakes were high. Summer Sky still had the lead, which was starting to make Niko nervous.

Summer Sky inched forward, and Niko clutched his jeans and leaned on the edge of his seat. Fuck, Blue Comet was losing! He began to sweat from the anticipation and decided that something had to be done to stop Summer Sky. Sure, in some people's books it might have been cheating, but fuck it, he wasn't going to let Blue Comet lose this easily. Blue Comet had to win this race- not just for his pride and glory, but for his family as well. If he lost, how could he afford to feed his wife and kids? What about the mortgage? The dog's vet visit? His children's birthday presents? His dying mother's hospital bill?

Niko was frantic. In a split second of desperation, he came to a momentous decision: Summer Sky had to die.

Rastafarian, Michelangelo, and Black Knight were no longer a threat. They were all caught in a tango and seemed to be going as slow as possible. Pfft, served them right. They were just in the way. This match was between Blue Comet and Summer Sky- no one else.

Summer Sky was Niko's cynosure, and as he crept closer and closer toward the end, Niko wrenched his elbow back. He would only have one chance to make this work, and if he failed, the consequences would be dire. Just then, Summer Sky hit a transfer spot that morphed him slightly and caused his roundness to become more blotchy. Perfect, this was the time to strike! Aiming right for Summer Sky, Niko slammed his limb into the window, and the car screeched to a halt.

"Owwww!" Niko shrieked as he hugged his elbow to his chest. "Ow, ow, ow! It hurts!"

"What the flying fuck!?" Jett hollered, instantly maneuvering to face his boon companion. "What the hell was that?! Niko, do you want me to crash the fucking car, and- aw, no! My fucking window!"

Still holding his elbow, Niko executed a pained glance towards the window, and when he did, he saw a crack. It wasn't a massive crack by any means, but there was still a crack, and now Jett was fuming.

"Niko, I'm going to give you five seconds to explain why you just Hulk-smashed my window. And if you don't give me a damn good reason, then I'm going to pull your skinny ass out of this vehicle and beat the shit out of you. Is that clear?"

"H-Hulk-smashed…?" Niko floundered, now fully coming to terms with the scope of his lapsus calami. "...Please, it's just a tiny crack! Nothing you can't afford to fix!"

A sneer settled on Jett's smudged features, and he looked at his soon-to-be victim coldly. "Five."

"Now, now, Jett. Just chill! It's not a big deal-"

"Four."

Okay, now Niko was getting scared. "J-Jett, relax! Just stop for a-"

"Three."

"Jett-"

" **TWO.** "

"I did it to help him, okay!? I thought the vibrations from me hitting the window would give him an advantage!"

The oxygen in the car turned to ice.

Niko kowtowed, rubbed his battered joint, and waited anxiously for Jett's reply. Murderous intent was radiating off of him like scent lines from a cartoon show, and so Niko decided to pay his attention back to Blue Comet. Without a doubt the force of his elbow hitting the casement had knocked Summer Sky off course, and now-

"DEAR GOD! BLUE COMET!" Niko screamed, searching all over for his sacred ally.

Like Summer Sky, Blue Comet had been caught up in the attack and was now nothing more than a watery smudge on the outside of the window sill. Rastafarian and Black Knight were also heavily wounded, but fortunately, Michelangelo was okay. Not that anyone really gave a shit, though.

Jett couldn't make of what he was witnessing, and as Niko slammed his fists against the dash and lowered his head, he thought he could see a single tear stream down the side of his face. "...Hey, Nik-"

"He was so full of life!"

"...Uh, what're you-?"

"Blue Comet, I did it all for you! Please forgive me!"

"Nikolai! Earth to Nikolai!"

"Oh, shit- the family! He had kids, Jett! KIDS!"

"...Niko, can you SHUT UP!? What the hell are you even talking about?!"

Niko stifled a sob and wiped his cheek off with his thumb. "...Oh yeah, you wouldn't know, would you?"

Jett felt like he had just been shot in the face, and now was experiencing one of those pre-death fever dreams that skewed your awareness. "Dude, explain to me why you felt the need to go nuts mid-drive. I won't beat you up, okay? Now talk, and make it snappy."

Niko sniffled. He had a moral obligation to testify to the events that led to Blue Comet's demise. And because he was the cause, he now had to bear his sins for Jett to see. "Blue Comet bit the big one, and it's all my fault. I just wanted to kill off Summer Sky, ya know? But my aim was shit, and now he's dead."

"...Blue Comet? Summer Sky? _What?_ "

"Blue Comet was my fucking raindrop, Jett. He was so close to winning the Waterdrop Rally, but Summer Sky—the _bastard_ —had to mess it all up!"

Jett's mouth went slightly agape as he slowly pieced the puzzle of idiocy together in his head. "...Are you kidding? You were playing that stupid mind-game kids do and punched out my window because your raindrop was losing?!"

"Blue Comet was special!" Niko snapped back vigorously. "He had goals- a dream! He was on his way to the big leagues, but now that he's down for the count, the 2028 qualifiers will be delayed!"

"For god's sakes, get a hold of yourself!"

"Fuck you! Do you want to know what you are? A hater. A filthy, slimy little hater who likes to watch people suffer. I tried my damned hardest to help Blue Comet out, but here you are, acting like Summer Sky- a pretentious sack of shit! Have you no shame?"

"It's a fucking raindrop!"

"He was a hero, dammit! A hero!"

Jett smacked his forehead and ran his hand down his face. "I'm through. I want it dead silent in this car for the rest of the drive. Save your sperging out for Jean to handle, not me."

"Knobhead," Niko taunted.

"Douchebag," Jett jived, taking his bait.

And so that was the end of that. Thirty minutes breezed by, and in that time Niko passed out from a mixture of both weariness and boredom. Dreaming a wild dream of taking over the world and scoring the world's biggest fix of illegal stimulants and anesthetics, he snored contently. Well, that was until Jett hit a particularly massive pothole in the road, causing him to bounce awake with a loud snort.

"Crap," Jett said lowly. "I was afraid you would wake up."

Turning a deaf ear to his friend's dig, Niko instead felt the side of his face with his fingers and was disgusted when he made contact with a blob of half-dried spittle that had leeched from his mouth. Wiping the substance away with a vigorous swipe of his sleeve, he asked, "Where are we? How long was I out?"

Jett surveyed the road ahead of him and reached his right hand into his coat pocket. Snatching a cigarette and sticking in his mouth, he lit the end, and the thick scent of menthol permeated the air. "Right now we are nearing the Rockefeller Center. And not long enough, I'm afraid."

"Shut it, and let some air in," Niko said. "You already know that I hate that brand."

Jett obliged and cracked his driver's side window open. Directing the smoke stream out of the car, he then tapped the ash off and watched it fly away in the wind.

"Hey, Jett?"

"What?"

"You're not still pissed about the glass, are you?"

"A little bit," Jett echoed with a pithy sting. He didn't even look at Niko through the rearview mirror to see if he was actually being genuine.

Niko felt the hit and shrunk a little. "Yeah, sorry about that. I tend to get a bit deep into my daydreams. You can blame my LSD trip from September of 2022 for that. That night was fucking wild."

"That doesn't change the fact that my window is still broke. Do you even know how much this Ferarri costed me? Wait, here's a hint: it's worth more than your entire circulatory system and excretory system combined."

"Like I already said," Niko ameliorated with a smile, "it's just a tiny crack. Just slather some epoxy resin onto that bitch, and you should be golden. Oh, I'm kind of hungry. Is there anywhere we can stop to eat?"

"The only nearest place is Micky D's."

Niko faked a dry-heave.

"I thought you would have that reaction."

"There is no way I am eating anything from that pestilent canker of a fast-food chain. We have to go somewhere else."

"Nah, I'm actually in the mood for a filet right about now."

"You mean a heart attack on a bun?"

"Always the comedian, aren't you? McDonald's isn't that bad. When I was a teenager and worked there part-time, I used to stockpile on free nuggets. Life in the early 2000s was a much simpler time."

Niko felt as if he was falling into neurogenic shock. "W-W-Wait a second; you worked at McDonald's?! _What?_ Why am I just hearing about this now?"

"Never had a reason to bring it up. I actually have some pretty good memories of that time, particularly the day I was fired."

"You were fired? Wow, there's a mindfuck. And here I thought you were a tightwad from the day your mother squeezed you out of her vag. And you said the early 2000s. How old are you again?"

"There's no need to be coarse, Nik. But I'm forty. I was born in '87."

"You're forty, and I'm thirty-five. Where does the time go?"

"Right? Anyway, care to hear the tale?"

"Heck yeah! Tell me about how you were fired!"

"Alright, here it goes. I was sixteen back in 2003, and by that point, I'd been earning some extra dinero from McDonald's for about six months so I could help my folks out with the rent. Our specific location was running something like a double cheeseburger special for a buck twenty, and on that particular day, the place was packed to the brim. Now there was this elderly gentleman who would come around every once in a blue moon, and he was the worst. Everyone knew him, and nobody ever wanted to deal with him. So of course, on this slam-packed day, I just so happened to be placed on register duty, and the guy who has issues being bossed around in the bedroom so likes to verbally abuse teenagers pulls up and immediately starts bitching about how he can get a $1.20 double cheeseburger anywhere. Hell, he could just as easily swing over to Burger King or Wendy's, so why don't I give him two Big Macs for the same price? Now our store did run a Big Mac special every few months, but it was not that time, and he was dead out of luck. So I tell him that our special right now is $1.20 double cheeseburgers, and changing the price for two Macs wasn't going to fly with my manager. This doesn't sit well for our working-class hero, who doesn't like being told by a harebrained sixteen-year-old that he can't have his cake and eat it too. Again, he runs his mouth with the _'I could go to Burger King'_ bitching. He wastes a good few minutes of my time, and while he's freaking out, the drive-thru is piling up like snow on a mountain top. When it finally dawns on the fucker that I'm not going to ring him up for $1.20 double Big Macs, he gets hopping mad but eventually places an order. He comes to the window, pays, and as I hand him back his change, he, still foaming at the mouth, whining up a storm, and now profane, mentions again that he could have gone to fucking Burger King for the same stupid deal."

Niko was sucked in but didn't offer a word.

"At this moment, I know I'm fired because I want to say something and I'll be damned if I don't," Jett continued. "I smirk and cross my arms as annoying as only teenagers can, look him square in the face, and say, 'Well then, what are you waiting for? Go to fucking Burger King and stop wasting everyone's time.' Then I slam the window shut and start taking the next order over the intercom. The guy goes fucking wild and starts banging on the pane, shouting every profanity under the sun. I'm just smiling and taking the orders from the backup because I no longer have a micro-fraction of a shit to give. I'm a teenager; I can get a load of minimum wage-paying jobs. I'm already thinking about when I should go to the Autozone across town to apply. They're nowhere near as busy as this location, and I have a friend trying to get me to quit and work there anyway. Knowing these are my last moments makes ignoring the furious asshole easy. Eventually, he moves to the second window to get his food, and finally lets the other costumers order."

"Holy shit, what happened next?"

"After that, he goes ballistic on my manager, who was smiling the whole time and grabs his food and books it. My manager walks over to me, and I already know what's coming. She plasters on her most innocent face and asks as sweetly as possible, 'Did you tell that nice customer to go to Burger King?' And I say, 'That I did, miss.' Manager, with that same sweet voice, 'You did a good thing today, hon. And as much as I hate to say it, you're fired.' She then walks away as if the whole thing never happened, leaving me to finish my shift and never return. Rumor has it that the old dude never did get his Macs, but despite that, he still continues to harass helpless teenagers from the grave whenever the urge finds him."

One side of Niko's mouth lifted into a lopsided grin, and he tried but failed to bite back a laugh. "Wow, what a story. Jett my man, I never would've guessed that you were a badass even back then. You're a fucking legend."

Jett grinned in spite of himself and began chuckling alongside his zany compadre. "That I am, Nik. That I am."

* * *

 _ **A/N: The McDonald's story was heavily inspired by a random post I read on Reddit, so I can't take all the credit there.**_


	20. Rocks and Red Mechs

Zero was bored, and as a result, her mind kept drifting in and out of different maladaptive daydreams.

Like always, she, Epps, and Bumblebee sat together in the dining hall; however, today something was a bit different. Sideswipe of all Autobots had decided to join them in his holoform, and as her three paisans ruminated over insignificant things, she remained silent and opted to stand aside as an observationalist only.

Similarly to his robot body, Sideswipe's holoform shared his token sawtooth hairstyle. It was trimmed at the sides and peaked upward at the front. It was also an intense shade of dyed incarnadine that practically seemed to glow in the sunlight, and over his shoulders, he wore a red and white varsity jacket with the standard Autobot regalia pinned at the left anterior of his sternum.

He retained an air that was both charismatic and naive, which was only accentuated by his enormous, electrifyingly blue irises. Zero noted that they weren't as bright or as kind as Bumblebee's, and at random intervals in the conversation, he would shoot her strange glances that she couldn't quite get a read on, which further put her on the qui-vive. But aside from those observations, right now Sideswipe and Epps were talking, and like Zero, Bumblebee was quiet as well.

"I've been waiting seven months to tell this story..." Epps gloated as he wiped his mouth off with a napkin. He was eating french fries, and though Zero was tempted to steal some for herself, she decided against it. "...So I'm at home and can't cook for shit, so my go-to snack is microwave taquitos. Now at this point, I have to take a leak, so I throw them in, set the timer, and make a mad dash for the restroom. Why mad dash? Because for some dumbass reason, I had to challenge myself to piss and get back to the kitchen before the microwave went off."

"But why would you even do that? What was the point?" Sideswipe asked.

Epps was nonchalant and shrugged without a care in the world. "I like stupid games. It's because I'm pretty stupid."

"Makes sense," Bumblebee corresponded with a grin. He was still resentful over the cheek-pinching incident and had been giving Epps the cold shoulder ever since. He wanted to get his human friend back somehow but was still undecided on which revenge prank would be most suitable.

Thinning a pair of doddery brown orbs, Epps ignored his yellow friend's rebuff and kept talking. "So I run from the microwave, and the next room is the living room. My old apartment had a couch and a huge coffee table, so I thought that if I just parkoured over the two, I would clear it no problemo. But alas, my boot caught, and I plummeted to the floor. I got up and stumbled back into the bathroom, and instantly realized that everything was not okay. My arm throbbed to the point where I kind of felt like throwing up, but I just sat down for a couple of minutes and tried to stay calm. Since I was in some incredible pain, I figured I would call up my physician and get his take on the matter. He ultimately decided that it was probably bruised, but we waited a couple of days before I decided that enough was enough and got it checked out. And yeah, it was splintered in two places. All because I wanted to run to the bathroom, pee, and get back before my stupid taquitos finished cooking."

Bumblebee swayed his head in acknowledgment of the story, and Zero remained disinterested. Sideswipe smirtled for a moment before saying, "Man, you humans and your weird antics. Oh, and I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"What the frag is a taquito?"

As if on queue, Bumblebee and Epps looked at each other alarmingly, and Zero's previously lax demeanor disappeared like a mirage in the eye of the Sahara. Looking up from the brown and black speckled void of the tabletop, she cleared her throat and straightened her posture. "A taquito is a Mexican food dish that typically consists of a rolled-up tortilla that contains filling such as beef, cheese or chicken. The filled tortilla is then crisp-fried or deep-fried. The dish is often topped with condiments such as sour cream and guacamole. Corn tortillas are predominantly used to make taquitos; the dish is more frequently recognized as flautas when they are larger than their taquito counterparts and can be made with either flour or corn tortillas, although using corn is more traditional..."

"Slag it, Sideswipe..." Bumblebee muttered, which warranted a sheepish laugh from his teammate. Zero's factual rolls were always a bit draining. "M'kay, Zero. We get it with the taquitos. You can stop now."

Zero tilted her head to the side and offered him an innocent look, but obliged and did not continue. However, Sideswipe was intrigued, and his focus shifted away from Epps and cemented onto the strange female mecha-human-thingy before him.

"Hey," he said, "you sure seem to know a heck of a lot about pointless things, don't ya?"

Zero gave Sideswipe a long, slow blink, and looked at him with such boredness that he might as well have been a fly on the wall beside her. Bumblebee was the only extraterrestrial she had any interest in, so she didn't tend to pay much mind to the others whenever they attempted to converse with her. "Pointless? Autobot, I am not sure you fully comprehend the absurdity of your statement. In my eyes, there is no such thing as knowledge that is of no worth or value. Being informed of the things around you is good for neurological reinforcement and personal character development."

"Personal character development?" Sideswipe repeated. Looking Zero from top to bottom, he grinned and crossed his arms mockingly. "That's hilarious, especially coming from you of all humans. Amirite, 'Bee?"

Bumblebee blushed from second-hand embarrassment. He knew Sideswipe wasn't necessarily trying to be a slagger to his odd tiny friend with that comment but nonetheless was made uncomfortable by how coolly it had slipped off of his particle refracted tongue. "Hey now, that's not-"

"And what might you be implying with that statement, Autobot?" said Zero.

Sideswipe raised an oblivious red eyebrow and said, "Uh, do you really need me to spell it out for you?"

Zero nodded curtly.

"Ooookay then. Since you asked, you're stodgy as all Pit. For real, you're so business-oriented and perfunctory that you give Strongarm a run for her money. I just think it's comical that you would bring up personal character development since your about as robotic as they come. Heck, what am I even saying? I'm a fragging robot! No, you're more like a rock."

"A rock?" asked Zero. So far she didn't seem very upset by what Sideswipe was saying, which surprised Epps and astounded Bumblebee. He figured she would've gotten indignant by now since Sideswipe was acting so upfront, and quite frankly, rude.

"Yeah, a rock," Sideswipe replied with a wiggle of his finger.

"But that doesn't make any sense at all."

"And how doesn't it?"

"Rocks lack sentience or intelligence, which are characteristics I am clearly in possession of. Although if you are comparing me, a semi-biological organism, to a rock, then perhaps you are the one who is more like a rock than I."

"Wait, what the heck? How am **_I_** like a rock?"

"Since you can't decipher what I just said, then need I spell it out for you?"

Sideswipe went mute.

"You're stupid. Now leave me alone."

A light silence hung in the air for a brief moment as the hubristic red 'bot registered his fail, and in that time, Bumblebee and Epps were trying in vain to hold back a throng of amused giggles. Finally giving in, the two laughed in unison, and Zero smiled faintly before going back to aimlessly tracing circles into the polished wooden table.

"Hmph!" Sideswipe's ego took a hit, and now he was trying to cover it up. "Well, it looks like 'Rock' over here has a comedic side as well. Funny."

"Pffft, alright, alright," Bumblebee said as he let out his final giggle, Epps following suit. "Heh. Don't take it personally, Sides. In plus, I think you deserved it for being mean."

Zero, whose attention was now acutely rendered onto Sideswipe, scowled. "...Rock?"

She drew out the word, clearly displeased by it. But her new red nemesis detected this and squinted a little. "Yeah, _Rock_. I think it fits perfect. Better than whatever nonsense those two call you, anyway."

"No. Don't call me that."

"Rock."

"Really, Sideswipe?" Bumblebee sighed. "Now you're just trying to antagonize her."

"Rock."

"Stop it," Zero said firmly.

"...Hmmm."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...Rock."

"For the love of- Sides!" Now Bumblebee was getting tired. "Cut it out already. The last thing I want is to have to trail her down today because you made her mad. Just do what she says and leave her alone."

"But don't you agree that she's kind of like a rock? You're the one who has to spend the most time with her, so I know you can vouch for what I'm saying."

"I think you're processor is about as functional as a rock if you think I'm going to answer that."

"Fine. Be that way, you fragger."

"Hey, weren't we supposed to be changing the topic?" Epps purposely asserted out loud.

"Yes, Robert. I believe we were."

"You know, Bumblebot, if you keep calling me Robert then one of these days I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson."

" _You_ , teach _him_ a lesson?" Sideswipe said as he amusedly pointed at Epps, clearly missing the sarcasm in his voice. "Haha, good one."

"Oh? And what might you be implying with that?"

"Are we gonna do the spelling out thing again? Dude, you're a little squish. There's no way a human fleshie could do anything to an Autobot, even in their holoform."

Bumblebee tautened. When he looked at Zero, he noticed that she too went rigid and was now eyeing Sideswipe dangerously. Not good. Deciding that he needed to de-escalate the situation, Bumblebee braced his hands in the air and liberated a tremulous snicker. "H-Hey now, remember how we were supposed to be changing the subject? Really guys, where did the hostility come from?"

"Hey, I wasn't being hostile; I was just kidding around," Epps replied. "It's not my fault that Lord CuntlyMcRazorPistons decided to bring race into the mix."

Okay, that one was hard for Bumblebee not to laugh at; Epps was always a wizard with his comebacks. "Okay. Epps, you're exempt. But you, Sideswipe, are gonna have to quit it."

Sideswipe put on a theatrical, overtly hurt face. "Aw, 'Bee! I was just yanking your chain! I mean, we all know that humans are too weak to-"

"How annoying. I can hear you, you know."

Diverting their attention away from one another, both 'bots were instead greeted with a somewhat insulted looking biorobot. Her face was now resolute but held an unwritten intensity to it, which rose several red flags in Bumblebee's processor. He knew that look. It was the same one she wore when High Tide started trash-talking the human race at that meeting with Braginsky a long while back. And he also knew that it only meant one thing: if Sideswipe kept running his mouth, then there was a chance she was going to get violent. And a violent Zero was never a good Zero because unlike other humans, she was dangerous and actually could do damage if she put her mind to it.

"Oh, did you?" Bumblebee started. De-escalation, de-escalation, de-escalation. He had to fix this. "Well then, you know that my buddy Sides was just-"

"Calling my kind weak. Yes, I heard that idiotic comment particularly well."

Now it was Sideswipe's turn to speak. "Wait, idiotic? Like how? I'm not trying to be a jerk, Rock. It's just a fact that humans are squishy and fleshy and weak. If you don't like the facts, then I'm sorry you feel that way."

Bumblebee sat up abruptly. "Sideswipe!"

"You're mistaken," said Zero, who unconsciously joined Bumblebee in standing up.

"Literally how am I wrong? It's science."

"What you say about our material components is accurate, yes, but you are incorrect about us being weak. And I can say for certain that your claim is unsound because of my own past experiences."

"Doing what?"

"Killing invaders."

"...Oh."

The way Sideswipe and Zero eyeballed each other was so electrifyingly potent that the oxygen around them seemed to spark and flare up with their frowns. Epps, notwithstanding, didn't say anything. As a substitute for words, he fell back into Seargent mode and absorbed the situation with watchful eyes in case it escalated any further.

Sideswipe opened and closed his mouth several times. He didn't know what to adduce, because, at that moment, flashbacks of Dropspring and Blastos' mangled corpses began reeling back to him, right alongside some others that hadn't warranted a 'Bee-team congregation.

Howbeit, Zero took his flustered guise as an admission of credence rather than horror and felt the need to clarify a few things to her previously jovial audience. "Yes, you would be surprised by how many vulnerable spots we at Cemetery Wind have deciphered over our decade of Cybertronian study. Particularly frail and good regions for battle exploitation are, of course, the joints. Your armor structure fails to adequately cover those areas because it would restrict your movements, which makes severing them quite a simple task if you have the correct tools at your disposal. Before it was seized from me, I had my rocket launcher, which did the job quite well for the most part. Another good place is the nape of your helms. Many significant Energon lines run through that area to power your cerebral circuit, so severing them is the most ideal for a non-messy scene. Although I haven't ever done it myself, I do have a comrade who utilized a shovel-like method of cleaving into the back of a Cybertronian's nape, which in turn sent the helm flying off of its body and into-"

"Okay, enough! J-Just shut up, you freaky human witch!"

Zero stopped talking and looked down at Sideswipe. He looked panicked, which made her feel something she hadn't felt in a long time.

Superior? No, not quite.

Unequaled? Absolutely.

Her lips began to curl into a beam but immediately faded once her attention reached Bumblebee, who looked indescribably fragmentary. He just seemed so crestfallen, which made her wobble slightly off of her high horse.

Everyone was tense and remained that way until, seemingly out of nowhere, Lennox entered the expanse and promptly made his way towards them all once he spotted them.  
Bumblebee noticed that he had a particularly noticeable pep in his step, and instantly became relieved when he finally stopped short of the table. He didn't seem to notice the oppressive atmosphere which clouded the group and smiled brightly. Something good had transpired, it seemed.

"Hey there," Lennox said. "How goes it?"

Zero looked away. NBE-Major General Lennox was definitely a person she didn't want to interact with. He was one of her primary custodians, after all.

"Err, questionable," Epps replied. "I'd say you arrived at the perfect time, actually."

Lennox curled his lip, confused. "Is that so? Care to fill me in?"

Bumblebee tried to speak but was interrupted by Sideswipe, who loudly and unnecessarily revolved in his chair and turned to his human foreman with his typical level of gusto. "Ah, it's nothing important. Just the inmate saying creepy Cemetery Wind bullslag and whatnot. Anywho, we wanna talk about something else, so if you've got a tale to tell, feel free to go wild. Just make sure it's entertaining."

Lennox made a face that Zero found odd. She could tell that his enthusiasm had diminished somewhat, and after sparing her a cagey glance, he stroked his chin in contemplation. Finally getting a read on the environment, he recalled something lighthearted and cleared his throat in preparation for what was to come. "Something entertaining, eh? Alright, well, I think I've got a good one. But 'Bee, I'm gonna need to speak with you after this."

Bumblebee gave a thumbs-up. "Sure thing."

Lennox smiled. "Cool. Anyways, where do I even begin? I was once on a U.S. military ship having breakfast in the commissioners' lounge when the operations officer walks in-"

"Woah, hold your horses," Sideswipe cut in. "How long ago did this take place?"

The corner of Epps' mouth tipped up, and his features brimmed with disbelief. For being the human equivalent of twenty-six, Sideswipe was almost cartoonishly teenagery.

Lennox, however, thought the question was adequate and responded in kind. "It was back when I was just an army captain, so I'd say about thirteen years or so. I was eating Cocoa Puffs when the operations officer, who was my higher-up, stumbled in. Now, this guy was the definition of _not_ a morning person. He was still half-asleep, bleary-eyed, eh, basically a corpse with a bagel. He sits down across from me to eat and is just barely awake. My back is to the outboard side of the ship, and the morning sun is blazing through one of the portholes, putting a big circle of light on his face. He's squinting and chewing and just remembering how to be alive for the day. It's painful to watch, honestly.  
But then zombie-OPS stops chewing, slowly picks up the phone, and dials the bridge. In his well known I'm-still-totally-asleep voice, he says, 'Heeeey. It's OPS. Could you shift our barbat? Yeah, one-six-five. Thanks,' and puts the phone down. But then he just sits there. Squinting… Waiting...  
Ever-so-slowly, I realize that big blazing spot of the sun has begun to slide off his face and onto the wall behind him. After a moment, the sunspot is gone, and the dazzling beauty of what I'd just witnessed begins to overwhelm me. By ordering the bridge to adjust the ship's back and forth patrol by fifteen degrees, he changed our course just enough to reposition the sun off of his face. He literally redirected thousands of tons of steel and hundreds of people just so that he could get the sun out of his eyes while he eats his bagel. So needless to say, I was in awe.  
After I had that epic revelation of God-level genius, he just looks up at me again, blinks that all-knowing Illuminati blink, and goes back to shoving his bagel into his zombie mouth without a single care in his zombie world."

Bumblebee looked genuinely amazed. "Wow. That was magnificent. I'm touched."

"I second that," Epps concurred. "It really does get a man in the heartstrings."

"A true testimate to human evolution, I'd say," said Zero.

Lennox chuckled. "Haha, okay, enough with the smartassery. Bumblebee-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. You need me to come with you and blah, blah, blah."

"Hey now, I'm your superior officer. Where's my respect?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Bumblebee looked apologetic. "You need me to come with you and blah, blah, blah, _sir._ "

Lennox laughed and waved his hand towards the doors. "This way."

"Oh, wait a second." Bumblebee paused and reached his hand out towards Zero. "You're coming with."

Taking it, she said, "Fine by me."

Sideswipe feigned a look that teetered on the brink of offense and sardonic teenage amusement. "Fine by me as well. I was getting sick and tired of talking to rocks."

Zero sneered. "The nape of the helm, Autobot. The nape of the helm."

"Oooh, so scary."

Bumblebee looked askance with distaste and gave Sideswipe a hard smack to the back of the head, effectively making him wince. "W-What the-? 'Bee! What was that for?!"

"Didn't I tell you not to antagonize her? Geez, you're more insubordinate than I am."

Sideswipe rubbed the back of his head and watched as the three walked out off the room. Looking behind him, Bumblebee smiled devilishly, which Sideswipe decided to counter with a grumpy mutter and a highly offensive Cybertronian hand-gesture.

The human-alien duo followed behind Lennox in companionable silence as he led them towards what Zero figured was one of the many transmission hubs that were peppered around the NEST command post. Wall-to-wall, it was encased with humans at desks with headsets and tinted visors over their eyes. The blue light that was ejected from the computer screens seemed to almost accent the already Matrix-esque vibe the room was exerting, which, in a way, reminded Zero of Cemetery Wind's Communication Center. The familiarity rang like a pang in her chest, but she decided that now was not the time for sentimentality.

Wait, _sentimentality?_ When had she developed a sense of sentimentality? Zero steeled onward. Her mind was going akimbo again, like always.

Passing a glass partition that sanctioned two rooms dubbed 1A and 2B, they stopped before a door. Gripping its latch and turning the knob, Lennox unbarred it, and all three filed in like children being led to their classroom. Sitting down, Lennox gestured towards the two open seats available, which his guests promptly sat down in.

"So, Lennox, what's this all about?" Bumblebee was genuinely mystified and wanted to know what was up. It wasn't often that Lennox interrupted his breaks, and he could tell that Zero looked twitchy and trepidatious. It wasn't like he could blame her, though, since the Major had just as much access to the hellish electro-remote that kept her in line as Isaac Braginsky did.

"I got a phone call, Bumblebee."

"From who?"

"Wembly estate, a.k.a. Yeager residence. London, England."

Bumblebee's face blanked, but his entire body bristled with excitement. "Yeager residence…? Wait, you don't mean it was Cade, do you? _Cade_ called? Holy cow, it's been so long! What's he up to?"

"Woah, woah. Hold on there, tiger. Yes, we got a call from the Yeager residence, but it wasn't Cade. It was Cogman- their butler. However, it does pertain to Cade. I have him on hold right now. He's waiting for you."

Lennox extended a cellphone towards Bumblebee that was connected to a protected line. It was a precautionary measure against hackers. Bumblebee took the device but held it away from him. "Like how?"

"Well, that's the thing. Cogman wanted to tell you over the phone specifically."

"So he didn't tell you?"

"No, he did."

"Is it bad news?"

"Just take the damn phone and ask him yourself. Jesus."

"Oookay." Bumblebee buried one of his hands into his pockets and hoisted the device to his ear while Zero waited by his side complacently. And as they went on and on over stochastic matters she couldn't quite piece together, she directed her surveillance over to Lennox, who offered her a sheepish smile.

In comparison to the Lieutenant General, he struck her as a much more docile individual who exercised logical rationale instead of rage. But he was still her adversary and gatekeeper, which made his entire existence a problem that needed to be dealt with. All she wanted was for Bumblebee to conclude his conversation so they could go back to his room. She had been reading a book recently that she thought he would enjoy, and wanted to share the premise with him. She had been planning to do that in the dining hall, but the bothersome red mechanoid had invaded their three-person sanctuary and started spouting his usual blustering alien piffle.

Thinking about Sideswipe's words made Zero angry. He was a refugee on Earth, not a citizen. He was fortunate that the human race decided to let his kind stay after all, especially given their track-record with placing the world in peril. The lack of gratefulness Sideswipe and many other Autobots had was frustrating to Zero because they were completely at the mercy of the humans, yet still had the audacity to act boisterous and superior merely because they were comprised of proto-matter rather than cells. So far the only Autobot she had met who hadn't exhibited those tendencies was Bumblebee, which she appreciated very much.

But still, it was utter nonsense. And as Zero thought more in-depth about the matter, she ended up losing track of time. Before she knew it, Bumblebee was tapping on her shoulder curiously.

"...Hey, did you hear me? Hellooo?"

"Hm?" Zero looked upwards. The phone was no longer in Bumblebee's hand, and Lennox seemed to be tending to some paperwork on his spreadsheet.

"Spaced out, huh? Did you happen to catch any of that perchance?"

Zero shook her head. "No, sorry. I was thinking about _other_ things."

"Vague as always."

"Just tell me again. Surely that can't be too arduous for you."

Bumblebee shot a lazuline glance towards Lennox. "Err, well…"

"And you say I'm vague."

"Well, I just don't know how you will react, okay? I'm nervous."

"You? Nervous? Interesting. This must be good then."

Bumblebee made a pouty face. "So an old friend of mine called, and there's this thing going on. It's in England, London specifically."

"And?"

"And it's a big deal. Cade Yeager's wife, Viviane, is arranging a surprise party for him. Cogman, their butler, urged me to come. It's been about five years since I last saw Cade, and-"

"So you want to go and socialize with acquaintances of long past? So what's the issue? Why are you deliberating here?"

"I won't be able to take you with me; you're technically on house arrest here. If you leave the premises with that collar, you're gonna be in for the shock of your life. In plus, if I do go, I'm just not sure if I'm okay with Braginsky being around. He's on this base at all times, and there's also Vale. He creeps me out, and I'm not sure I'm down with leaving you all alone without anyone for a week."

Zero's lips went linear, and she pressed them against her fist thoughtfully. "I see. Autobot, I can assure you that I can take good care of myself. For as long as I can remember, I have always been solitary. I don't need you to look over my shoulder day-in and day-out."

"But I'm worried. Lennox-" Bumblebee stopped and gestured towards him. "I-I can't go. Can you tell the Yeagers that I'm sorry? Maybe say that I have a new mission or something?"

Lennox drummed his fingers against his spreadsheet and frowned. "Bumblebee-"

"No, Major. I'm sorry. I already know what you are going to say. Even if you watch over her for the week, Braginsky is your boss and you and I both know that his badge means that he can essentially do whatever he wants and get away with it. Sorry. I want to go, I really do, but Zero's safety is my top priority. The last time I left one of my charges alone they-"

Lennox elevated his hand. It was as he thought, Bumblebee's anxiety was linked to Sam and his death. "'Bee-"

"I said no, and that's final. I've made my choice, Major."

"Bumblebee, will you just listen to me? I had a feeling you would feel this way, and that's fine. But I really, _really_ think you should go- not as your boss, but as your friend. You deserve a chance to go back and revisit Cade and Viviane and Tessa. I know you feel like you can't trust those guys but keep in mind that I'm going to be here. I have a say in what goes and what doesn't. Vale has no authority over me, and Braginsky has to take what I say into consideration. In plus, it's not like he has been skulking around for a moment to shock her. Ain't that right, miss?"

Zero was slightly taken off guard after being addressed so suddenly but agreed. "Definitely. Autobot, I think you are just acting paranoid. Perhaps you should take his offer into consideration."

"..."

"I'm an adult. Need I remind you that I was perfectly fine before falling into your hands?"

Bumblebee drew his lower lip between his teeth in thought. This conversation was stressing him out.

Lennox could see this and figured he would do something to remedy it. He had an idea. It wasn't the greatest one by any means, but it was still an option he could pull off.

He would have to pull some strings, but Bumblebee's work ethic was becoming unnatural, and it was getting to the point where Lennox was starting to fear for his mental well-being. The yellow 'bot needed a break, but unless a compromise was reached then and there, he wouldn't be able to convince him to go.

Deciding it would all be for the greater good, Lennox made up his mind. "Listen, 'Bee, what if I cut you a deal?"

"...What kind of deal?"

Lennox hesitated. "A risky deal."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Epps' taquito story and Lennox's OPS story were inspired, once again, by some random Reddit posts. Reddit is astoundingly good for writing material.**_


	21. Good, Bad, and Abnormal

"A risky deal?"

"Correctomundo."

"Risky how?"

"I was getting to that part," Lennox glibly asseverated, his arms clasped behind his body and his chest pushed out, allowing for more firm, stiff movements.

Bumblebee broke his focus away from the pane beside him, and it was after doing so that he noticed a dull droplet of nervous sweat glint off of Lennox's right temple, tipping-off that what he was going to say next likely wouldn't be the most politically correct thing in the world.

"Bumblebee..." Lennox ventured cautiously, clearly on pins and needles. "What if I made some arrangements to have the little miss come with you?"

Bumblebee jerked back. "I'm sorry, what? Major, you can't be serious. What about procedure? _Conventionalities?_ "

"You would still technically be working on the clock since you'd be watching over her, but you'd also get to see the Yeagers again. I would have to send a machinist to hang back with the stun-remote in case anything happened, but I have a hunch that nothing will."

"What a strange thing to say," said Zero. "And what brings you to that point of conjecture?"

Lennox scratched his face, not quite understanding the woman before him. "Huh?"

"What I purport is that for a Major General, you certainly seem somewhat shortsighted, if not completely guileless. Your naiveté confounds me. What makes you think I won't just attack the Yeagers and flee once the coast is clear?"

"I don't think you would do that."

"And why not? Am I not your adversary? Certainly you jest."

Lennox tapered, and his scarred, war-weathered hand gently stroked his bristled chin in cogitation. Truthfully, he didn't know why he thought she wouldn't harm the Yeagers. Her attacks against Braginsky and Vale most definitely didn't make her out to be irreproachable, but he just had a feeling. Call it innate instinct, or something like that. "Well then, how about we ask Bumblebee? What do you think, soldier?"

Bumblebee stiffened after hearing his name, but regained his composure and answered respectively. "What do I think?"

"Right, what do you think? You have been watching over this young lady for a long time now, so what I want to know is this: is she a threat to innocent civilians or not? This one is your judgment call entirely."

Bumblebee peered over at Zero, who gave him her undivided attention. Like Lennox, she was just as, if not more interested in his answer than anything else. Indeed, what did her Autobot companion think? Did he regard her as a threat to his kind and an aberration to civilized Cybertronian society, or as a being that was merely misguided and in need of interference like Jett did? As it happened to be, Zero wasn't entirely sure of the answer herself, but she did grasp one thing, and that thing was this: under no adverse circumstances whatsoever, even if it was under the pretense of self-liberation, would she inflict bodily harm onto innocent humans.

As Zero had mentioned several times previously, she was a civil servant, not a goon who did as she pleased without any rhyme or reason. And as she sat waiting for Bumblebee's assessment of her character, she felt a strange knot formulate inside her body. Rather than being in her stomach, the knot was in her chest. The feeling it drew from her was suffocating and cruel, merciless yet all-encompassing. And then an explanation for what it was hit her like a sack of bricks.

...Was she _afraid_ of his answer?

Trepidation. Disquietude. _Fear._

But that was impossible because Zero did not feel fear. She was a hardened soldier who faced adversity at every turn with a full handle on how to manage several different waters. How much resilience would she have if she allowed herself to feel fear? Likely not very much. That was why she took Benzodiazepines to block those receptors in her brain. The Director had detected this issue, and he had implemented what was necessary to correct it, so what was this feeling? Had he actually succeeded in ridding her of such tribulations?

Zero accepted the fact that the Director was a fallible lifeform because of Bumblebee, but continued to ponder this conundrum without a word escaping her lips.

Bumblebee wrung his hands together while he sat in his seat because he knew that like himself, Zero was also rooted in thought. He had a tough decision to make, and it all came down to one fundamental question.

Was Zero good, or was she bad?

Memories of them angrily debating and arguing with one another were the first things that Bumblebee focused on, like that time she'd openly expressed her distaste for Optimus Prime and the presence of Cybertronians on Earth. And the more he thought, the more inquiries lept from his processor and into his throat. Why did Zero dislike Optimus Prime? Why was she hesitant about letting Cybertronians stay on Earth? _Why? Why? Why?_

It was as Bumblebee reflected on these two questions that he began thinking of the pleasant times they had in their relatively short nine months together. She was always so eager to talk to him about books and history and other odd topics, and apparently no longer disliked him. The two had, in a bizarre way, become copartners, and it was through analyzing their personal interactions that Bumblebee came to unravel her syllogistic reasoning for thinking the way she did.

From Zero's point of view, Cybertronians represented a threat because the Earth nearly fell to ruin three times over because of them. And to her, Optimus Prime was no more trustworthy than a space pirate because he hadn't been capable of killing Megatron sooner; a feat that if he had accomplished, would've prevented the Chicago massacre and saved thousands upon thousands of lives.

Bumblebee couldn't say Zero was bad because her pitiless logic made sense.

Though Zero's convictions may have gotten the better of her sometimes, her overarching message was fairly agreeable and even admirable. Beneath her robotic exterior was a quirky, socially awkward person who genuinely liked discussing her thoughts and ideas while simultaneously taking her time to listen to others. Rectitude and ethicality were Zero's primary attributes. They were her pillars of being, her way of life.

With that rationality in mind, Bumblebee gave his reply to Lennox. "No, Major. I don't think she would hurt innocent people. I think Zero is a good person. I think the Yeagers would be safe."

Zero exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The beastly knot disappeared, and in its place came something tender, something grateful.

Lennox seemed satisfied and said, "If that is what you believe, then I trust you. In plus, even if she did try escaping, she'd be in the middle of England. Getting back to America with NEST soldiers tracking her collar would be a rather tricky achievement to pull off." Standing up, he walked over to the door and held it open for the pair. "Alright, out you both go. Now that this is all settled, I'm gonna have to make a few long phone calls out to our favorite C-3PO knock-off, Cogman."

On that order, Bumblebee and Zero swiftly got up from their chairs and walked out the door. Though the matter had been settled, there was still something that Bumblebee was unaware of, and that something was Zero, who was smiling widely to herself as she walked with him down the hall. Unlike her previous smiles, this one wasn't of animus or devilry, but of elation and unspeakable relief.

Bumblebee's assessment had been correct.

And that made her feel good.

* * *

On the morning Three-X strode into the transferral sector of the new Cemetery Wind outpost, he was reminded of the vast peregrination he would have to make so that he could speak to his creator.

The length of the stretch was overwhelming; it was filled with all sorts of gangways and confusing, unnecessary routes which existed for one purpose and one purpose alone. This purpose, which was widespread knowledge to even the most irrelevant of employees, was to mislead enemies should the base be discovered and/or infiltrated by any suspicious government agencies or NEST affiliates.

Three-X took a left, silently peering into dozens of identical cubicles that followed alongside his path. Not one of them had to be less than five by six feet, with a ceiling that was two and a half meters high at most. It made him instantly begin thinking of the Director's chambers, and how this space was dwarflike by comparison.

The moment one made entry into the Director's domain, one not only felt piteous from the shockwave of class and high culture but microscopic from its overall width and height. Just the hallway itself was enough to make even the most respected and wealthy of operatives go mute with awe, and subsequently heighten their respect for the Director's exquisite taste and superior architectural genius. And that wasn't even mentioning the chandeliers.

Yes, within the hallway leading to the Director's chambers was an alignment of glass chandeliers, all of which simply oozed power and superiority. I mean, what could Three-X say? The Director simply got everything so right while trying so little; it was hard not to revel before the man's most minuscule of feats, especially given his crippled state of being.

Each chandelier must have weighed at least one thousand pounds. In the scientifically unlikely but possible scenario that one of them came crashing down, one would certainly be reduced to nothing but a viscous mass of mangled bone shards and soupy, intestinal pulp, which leaked blood and mucus and maybe even hair if one was fortunate enough to have that much visibly left of them.

Three-X, if he were a normal human being, might have even been a little bit fearful of the chandeliers, but of course, like his other kin, he strolled under the deadly, hulking anvils as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. He had no way of fearing anything because his temporal lobe had been dissected to the point where he could no longer feel fear, as well as other worthless emotions such as love and empathy and remorse and whatnot. This just so happened to be the case for all of the X's, except for Zero. Her emotions were kept in check through an array of neural stimulants. She hadn't been lobotomized like the other three.

Rounding yet another corner, Three-X marched forth with a sense of purpose- a sense of conviction and steadfastness which the likes of any alien or human would never be able to comprehend thoroughly.

The base was tranquil at this time; it was nearing the brink of dusk, and many had already clocked out of their docking stations and gone home to tend to whatever familial and/or personal matters they had going on for them. Three-X liked the quietness. It allowed him to focus easier.

Passing by a window, Three-X stopped in his tracks. To say that the view was vast and palatial would have been a pathetic understatement. He was on the high rise of the facility, and from there he could see the whole of the Hudson-Atlantic borough in all of its ancient, historically rich glory, as well as an arrangement of skyscrapers and condos with luscious green plants and non-mechanized humans dotted in between.

Staring at them, Three-X zoomed in closer using his bionic contact lenses. Overall, there was little to grab the young techno-organic's attention; however, when an old woman bent down next to her dog, he became fascinated. The woman, who must have been aged somewhere between fifty or sixty, was using a bag to pick up her dog's excrement. The dog, which Three-X determined was a member of the _Canis lupus familiaris_ breed, had relieved itself in a long tow of grass. Why the woman didn't leave the waste alone was beyond him. The action struck him as vile and deranged. Surely she was aware of the number of parasites those creatures were capable of carrying?

Surrounding passers-by didn't seem to pay her lunacy any mind; in fact, there were actually dispensers for the appalling bags spread out every hundred yards or so.

Again, it was pure, unconstrained madness. The protentional conclusion Three-X could reach was that this woman suffered from some fervent wish to produce young, but because of her age, she was incapable of doing so. This must have given form to a rise of hysteria that made her suffer a compulsive need to care for her dog as though it was her offspring.

"The non-mechanized truly are a strange lot of creatures," Three-X said out loud, not even bothering to whisper, for his concept of social norms and what was and wasn't acceptable was substandard at best.

Unburdening his mind of these less than demanding deliberations and continuing forward, Three-X halted in front of a slightly ajar door. Ironically, the sterling-silver nameplate on the front of the door read its owner's name: Sterling. Jett Sterling.

The reason why Three-X was there at all was because the operative had asked to use his accumulated vacation days early, which was suspicious since he was never one to take time off. Tipping the door open, Three-X peered inside. As he'd expected, there was nobody there, but there were a few signs that things had been taken from the room.

He was able to tell because of the dust, primarily. When dust falls on top of something, it is only natural that wherever the dust can't reach would be clean and clear of residual particles. There were also a few scuff marks and footprints by the door, some of which appeared to be created by what he presumed to be sneakers alongside a pair of high heels. Suspicious. Quite suspicious, indeed.

Three-X's fingers danced on top of the touchpad that was fastened to his wrist. Angling it over so he could get a decent picture, he tapped the screen.

 ** _*Snap!*_**

This was all the evidence he required to assert that something was awry.

Jett Sterling was known for being one of the more difficult and disruptive operatives out of his sect, and ever since the disappearance of his partner, Zero-X, he had been acting insanely out of line.

Never letting the matter go, always requesting to speak with the Director, interrupting meetings- Three-X noted them all with a keen and observing eye. He was the eyes and ears of Cemetery Wind; whenever something odd occurred, it was his duty to report it to the Director.

And that was what he was going to do right now.

* * *

The days that followed Bumblebee's conversation with Lennox were exceptionally nerve-wracking.

The fear that Braginsky would pop up out of nowhere and catch what they were up to was enough to stress even the most hardened of soldiers out, considering bestial punishment for their actions was all but guaranteed. At the very least, Bumblebee would get tossed into the brig, Lennox would get fired, and Zero would be shipped off to Morshower's without any consideration as to what would happen to her afterward.

But it seemed that Lady Luck was on Bumblebee's side for once; Lennox had informed him after the plane landed in London that Braginsky had gotten a phone call from his twenty-something-year-old relative, Mikhail. Mikhail lived in Russia, Moscow specifically, and had gotten himself into quite a financial pickle after doing something exceptionally idiotic.

Good guy Mikhail had just moved into a new apartment complex and was getting pretty cold, so he decided to snag a load of gasoline from his truck and deposit it onto his indoor fire-rig. The canister he was storing the gas in was more like a jar than anything else, and when he lit the match and flung it onto the wood, the fire flared up and sparked inside the jar, effectively scaring the daylights out of him. Deciding just to ditch the jar, he heaved it against his wall, where it promptly exploded and burnt half of the place down.

TL;DR: Dipshit Mikhail cocktailed his own home.

In spite of the general stupidity of it all, the timing of the incident couldn't have been more perfect. Now that Braginsky was pent up with Mikhail, screaming over the phone that he was going to run his wallet dry offsetting the damages, he couldn't surveil the NEST base for any questionable activity.

It took a lot of willpower for Bumblebee not to glance over his shoulder as he packed Zero's clothes and boarded the Autobot carrier evacuating New York, and subsequently, America. When said carrier finally landed a good few miles away from the Wembly estate, Cogman had been there to greet Bumblebee and the small troop of men that had accompanied him. Zero stuck closely to Bumblebee throughout the whole ordeal. One of the men clung to the remote that linked to her collar, which made her extremely jittery. Besides that, because their visit was scheduled in advance, Cogman had already prepared a hotel for his guests to reside in. Since it was a surprise for Cade's 55th birthday, it was necessary that they not stay anywhere near the mansion for fear that he might identify them.

Bumblebee's holoform laid on the hotel bed beside Zero. Unlike him, whose mind was excitedly racing several miles per second over the prospect of seeing his old rebel comrade again, Zero was dead to the world. The stress of having the remote holder hiding among their group, scoping her out in secret, his finger aching to press the button was enough to drain whatever remaining energy she had left.

Staring up at nothing, Zero took a gulp of air, which did not go unnoticed by Bumblebee.

"Are you doing all right?" he asked.

Zero didn't say anything immediately. Her focus was on a moth that had crawled into their room somehow and kamikazed itself after flying into the ceiling light. "No, not particularly. This whole scenario screams disaster to me. So many things are being left up to chance that it's making me ill."

Bumblebee had to agree. "You got that right; this is such a felony. But we're here, aren't we? I say ride or die."

"After NEST's Lieutenant General discovers we are missing, die will be guaranteed. Particularly for me."

"You don't know that for sure. We did get lucky with the Mikhail clusterfrag."

"I say it was too convenient. What if it was a fluke? A piece of fake news to catch us flouting the rules?"

"No, I don't think so. The flight went off without a hitch. If Braginsky caught wind of Lennox's plan, then I'm sure he would've detained us before we left. In plus, we'll be back in four days. We don't see the bastard all too often, so have a little faith, will ya?"

Zero rubbed her temples, thinking. But then she sighed. "Your assumption is logical. But I hope these four days will come to pass quickly. Even if I am not loyal to NEST, I can't help but feel…"

"Intimidated?"

"No."

"Skittish?"

"Not quite."

"Apprehensive?"

"Your words, not mine."

Bumblebee smirked knowingly. "Gotcha."

Amicable quietness fell between the two, and the moth that had presumably committed suicide began to flutter once again towards the light drunkenly. Bumblebee began scrutinizing it alongside Zero, and together, they observed, mesmerized.

In a way, it was almost like that moth was a representation of the two, stupidly bouncing from one ridiculous scheme to the next.

* * *

The threshold Three-X admitted himself to was one of pure, unquenchable vindication.

Frayed wires were splayed across the floor like tatty herbaceous brambles, and hollow, tubular circuits carrying the vitality of organic life wormed through a vast and impressive array of brackets and stanchions, creating a complicated electromechanical wonderland which all stemmed from singular, seemingly torpified elderly man.

When one found themselves standing before the Director, or 'the big man,' as some of the more uncultured operatives liked to call him, they were immediately taken aback by just how dependent he was on the machinations wired into him.

He was an amalgamation- an unseemly blend between hundreds of thousands of years of biological evolution and futuristic, machine-driven hegemony. Three-X thought it was magnificent, even if the Director was riddled to his motor-driven core with obscene cicatrices. The boy showed nothing but the utmost respect and bowed before his liege, who sat limply within his throne of cogs and gizmos that preened its airs boastfully.

The Director's eyes resembled cataracts, what with them being a milky bluish-white color, and they did not follow Three-X's movements at all. It was almost as if the man was completely blind, but whether or not that was the case was exclusively known to Three-X and his subordinates.

"I have returned from whence I came, sir," said Three-X, his voice as stale as usual. "My psychological disquisition has been brought to completion through the analysis of Jett Sterling's working abode. I believe I may have exhumed some information that may be of interest to you, so if you would like me to relay it to you, then please do so in ten seconds or less. If you overextend my internal clock, then I will accept your silence as an admission of disinterest and leave your quarters under the presumption that my presence is unwelcome."

Three-X began his internal countdown, and numbers started flicking across his peripheral as he passively awaited an answer.

There was a deep inhale, which sounded strained and hoarse from years and years of abuse. The Director's lips quivered, and finally, at the last moment, after a twitch of his fingers and a spasm in his throat, did he speak. "I see…" His voice was scratchy and deep, like someone who had been assaulted by a ferocious animal but did not leave the situation unscathed. "...Then tell me, my forth, what is it that you have found?"

Three-X answered the Director's query quickly and formally.

"Yes, yes. So it seems Jett Sterling is up to something..."

Three-X was upfront. "Do you know who he could be working with?"

The vents beneath the Director's seat shuttered and released a torrent of tepid air- an indication that he had taken a breath through his artificial lungs. "The footprints. You said one appeared as though they came from heels?"

"Affirmative."

"Ah, yes. The only woman who ever wore heels to work was Jeanette Wellston. A refined young lady, that one. Or at least that is what I thought in the beginning. A shame she turned out to be a failure like so many others I had hired."

"I see, so she's a feckless type."

"She's not only feckless but a traitor to our cause," the Director cut in before coughing a cough so sickeningly violent and painful sounding that it might as well have been a choke. "But not as traitorous as one man who I used to employ. Nikolai Borscheman was his alias. A truly deranged and contemptible human being he was. Wellston and Borscheman used to court one another, so I imagine he is the owner of the second pair of footprints. I recall Sterling being rather chummy with those two, so it is feasible that they are now on his payroll."

"That assessment is..." Three-X stopped and scanned his hippocampus for an answer. "...Logical. Very well."

"Indeed, my child."

"What would you have me do with them?"

"The first thing that comes to mind is incineration; however, I would like you to remain on standby for now."

Three-X didn't seem to understand this order. "Standby?" he repeated.

The Director didn't make any massive movements, for he couldn't; his body was a weight- a spiteful enemy that very rarely followed his commands. But if he could've, he would've shaken his head yes. "Yes, do nothing. Absolutely nothing. Peace, Three-X. _Serenity._ They are merely grains of sand in an ocean far too vast and diabolical for their own good. Rather than asphalt, they tread coals; hot, fiery coals that will incinerate them from head to toe in due time. The same will become of Jett Sterling, so let's not quibble over individuals with preset memoriams. Let the proverbial fire burn anything and everything having to do with them."

"Fire…" Three-X said dreamily, completely entranced in the words and intonations of his superior.

"Yes, Three-X. _Fire._ Because fire is bright and fire is clean. Once something becomes entwined in it, their fate is sealed. Black ashes will be all that remains, so hold steady, boy. Your job is to stand against the minor tide of those who want to make everyone unhappy with conflicting theory and thought. You are a cloak and dagger of superior intellect and devotion, which is why your importance shall not be wasted on filth such as those. Do you understand me?"

Three-X genuflected once more, showing even more deference and civility than before. "Affirmative. Enlighten me, what purpose shall I serve in this expedient matter?"

"Maintain a steady eye on Jett Sterling; follow his movements and determine his plans from the shadows. Once you have them figured out, then guide him and his lackeys towards their inevitable when the time calls for it."

"Yes, sir."

After conveying his piece, the Director dismissed his creation. Departing from that utopian world of contrivances and silvery amenities, Three-X found himself in an unlikely space.

It was the park that he had been observing from the topmost floor of the facility, and after he sat down beside a man and woman with their perky chihuahua dog, a series of small-talk began.

"Why, hello there," the woman said sweetly. She appeared youthful, but Three-X found that her looks were average at best. Her facial structure lacked absolute symmetry, as did her husband's. Typical of the non-biorobotic.

"Greetings," Three-X answered, not offering anything else. He wanted to sit an observe, not interact. But the woman felt the awkwardness that Three-X couldn't and nudged her husband for aid.

"Sooo..." The man whistled. "Tell me, what might a young lad like yourself be doing out here all alone? Where are your parents?"

Three-X didn't look at the man, rather, he ignored his first question and said, "I have no parental units. I came here unchaperoned and of my own volition."

"Oh, uh, wow…" The man gave his wife a weirded-out look. "I'm very sorry to hear that, son. Are… Are you alright?"

Three-X knitted his unnaturally thick eyebrows together. This couple was bothersome; they were getting in the way of his research. He wanted to watch a boy as he played fetch with his German shepherd dog. It was an unusual action to him, toiling with inferior specimens and such. He didn't follow the reasoning behind owning a pet. It seemed like such a waste of energy. "My phrenic well-being is of no consequence to your current proclivities. Abscond, anthropoid duo. I have no use for your presence."

The man frowned deeply, obviously not deciphering a lot of what was said. But his wife, who had a vague idea, took his hand. "Come on, honey. Perhaps we should head someplace else…"

"But-" The man was interrupted as his wife lugged him up from his seat and began walking away with the dog.

Looking over his shoulder at the child as he walked away, the man became unnerved by the unblinking, pupilless eyes that stared back at him.

Whoever that child was, he was not normal.

* * *

 ** _A/N: I am having a bout with writer's block, so this chapter took me forever._**


	22. Preparations

Upon entering the Wembly estate, Zero couldn't tell if she had left behind a puppet show and all the marionettes that accompanied its coterie or a great seance and its vortex of whispering specters. Everything about the manor was so variant from what she was used to that it made her vacillate from one opinion to the next as she tried getting a hold of her bearings.

Wall-to-wall were paintings, ornamental vases, baroque side tables holding miniature statuettes, and stained glass windows which showcased artistic delineations of bestiary resurrections from eras long past.

Garths were accessorized with craggy pathways and wisterias in full bloom. Bedrooms were adorned in only the most exquisite quality of silk and velvet, and the living rooms and dining halls were filled with rococo furniture draped from top to bottom with golden festoons of the Fleur de Lys. The ornateness of it all was truly something straight from a basilica, and that was hardly even scratching the surface of the manor's peculiarities.

What enraptured Zero most out of all this allure was one singular abnormality: Cogman, the Yeagers' chief manservant, courtesy of the deceased exoplanet Cybertron.

For all intents and purposes, he seemed to be sublimity in corporeal form. His attitude and values were distinctly Victorian, and his prudishness and shrill moral tone only exacerbated this. But be as it may, Zero discovered not long after their arrival that he wasn't what he seemed, and his overtly concerned mannerisms were merely a facade that thinly veiled a raging psychopath (or sociopath, as he so fondly preferred to be called) underneath.

The incident happened on the second day of their stay. Bumblebee had woke Zero from her kip and gifted her something incredibly bizarre- Epps' black turtleneck. When she asked him what his reasoning was for imparting it to her, he spurred on about how orange prison jumpsuits weren't the choicest articles of clothing to wear to a civilian gathering, and how her being an inmate in his care would have to remain a secret between the two. Zero understood, and she had to admit after much muttering and blushing that he was absolutely correct.

After sliding the turtleneck-dress on, Zero followed Bumblebee out of their joint hotel room. And before her senses could absorb the light of the blue sky or the warmth of the fresh air, she felt her breath escape her lips as a human-sized Cybertronian grasped her hand and pelted her with a superfluity of benign, albeit unmerited greetings.

"Goodness, miss! I have heard so many things about you," he said sweetly, his cold metallic hands never leaving her grasp. "My oh my, just marvelous! Absolutely marvelous! Never before in all the countless millennia I've been on this planet have I born witness to a blend of both cells and proto-matter. Truly incredible, indeed. Only humans could be so innovational. Oh, and that face! Milady, you are stunning, absolutely stunning. And because you are so stunning, I must excuse myself for a fleeting moment and ask a question to your dear escort. My apologies, this will only take a second~"

Before Zero could get a word in, Cogman abruptly honed-in on Bumblebee. Grabbing a nasty hold of Bumblebee's forearm and speeding out of eyeshot, Cogman leaned in and asked, "Bumblebee, why in the name of sweet Solus Prime is that lovely young lady here in nothing but a bland mess of rags like that? I mean, really. This is the Wembly estate- a place of history and culture. I can't imagine how nervy she must be right now, to be seen in something so threadbare. Do you lack any sense of decency?"

Bumblebee treated Cogman with contempt even though he'd expected such an outburst from the sassy two-faced mech. "Gee, Cogman, it's not like I had much on hand. The only clothes Zero has to her name are her prison uniforms and her Cemetery Wind kill-suit, so unless you'd prefer she try those on for the soirée, then shove a wrench in it. She looks perfectly fine anyway."

"Perfectly fine my exhaust pipe! Bumblebee, look- I know its really, _really_ hard, but please use your processor for once. What on Earth is she going to wear after today? You don't expect her to go the next few days in _that_ , do you?"

Bumblebee bit the inside of his cheek; Cogman was starting to make his hackles rise. "Of course not. I was planning on having one of the soldiers grab her a few things from downtown while we help put the finishing touches on everything."

Cogman looked sickened to his protoform. "Downtown? My, of all the ludicrous things-"

"And what the slag is wrong with the shops downtown? Cogman, would it kill you to not take the lubricant out of everything you stumble across? Maybe then Crosshairs wouldn't-"

"Nope! Nope! Nope! Shut up!" Cogman replied, covering his audio receptors with both servos. "This won't do. I'll contact Lady Tessa immediately. Primus knows she has a myriad of dresses and bonnets that she never wears. A shame, truly. But she insists that such things are not to her taste."

Bumblebee didn't entertain Cogman's gammon; rather, he decided he'd head back over to Zero and keep her company. She bore an odd expression; a concoction between disenchantment and sardonicism meshed into one. Bumblebee had an idea as to what that face meant and grew sheepish. "You heard every word of that, didn't you?"

It was an effort for Zero to hold back a snort; the asininity was almost too much for her to bear. "Unfortunately, I did."

"Frag. Well, just forget about it. Cogman doesn't have the greatest rapport with emotional tenure, and he's also way too proudy for his own good. You look totally fine. Casual."

"Lovely," Zero said sarcastically. "Although I guess I don't have much right to judge when it comes to emotional tenure."

"I suppose. But remember, Cogman is just too big for his boots. I think that's why he's always so uppity about stupid things that don't matter."

Zero was wry and swayed her head. "You only say that because you're virtuously inclined to. And I find it incredibly interesting that you of all people would criticize others for taking on roles that are 'too big for their boots,' especially when being so small yourself."

"Wow, okay then. First of all, no. Second of all, I find it incredibly interesting that you're criticizing me for criticizing Cogman since you're the tiniest thing I have ever seen in my life."

"But my tininess doesn't matter since we are talking about your tininess as a result of talking about Cogman's tininess."

"But this isn't about my tininess; this is about Cogman's tininess and your tininess since you're giving me flack for talking about Cogman's tininess."

"But my point is that I find this situation ironic because you're lambasting Cogman for his tininess."

"Oh mon Dieu! Will you two stop zis already? It's just circles and circles!"

Zero and Bumblebee stopped and looked askance, hunting for the owner of the strange voice with their ears. There was nobody around; the street was deserted entirely of humans. All there was were cars, but there was one exceptionally well-buffed car that instantly caught Bumblebee's attention.

"Hot Rod!" Bumblebee emblazoned, waving his hands at the vehicle as if to rally an army.

"Hot Rod?" said Zero, obviously at sixes and sevens. She had never heard of an Autobot who went by that designation.

Cogman appeared once again from wherever he disappeared to, his fingers pressed against his temple, terminating the call with whomever it was that he'd been speaking with. "Oh joy, Hot Rod has finally come back. He had to make a quick oil change, you see. Bumblebee, milady, if you would be so kind, I would genuinely appreciate it if you would follow us to the estate."

"But what about Cade?" quizzed Bumblebee.

"Currently, Cade is with Crosshairs. He will be stalling him until ze time comes for ze great reveal," replied Hot Rod, who was brimming with poise and enthusiasm.

Zero absorbed the features of the odd foreign Autobot, and a muscle in her jaw twitched as she bore into his spark with her all too familiar super stare. "Autobot," she said, addressing Bumblebee with a tug on his shirt. "I was unaware that your kind came with accents. I must say, it has me a tad confused. Did you not learn how to speak English through the internet? Or did this one stumble across a page for French dialect and gain an accent that way?"

Bumblebee's lips formed into a grin, and he crossed his arms flippantly. "Haha, no. This idiot only talks like that because he likes the accent. Also, he's a huge show-off. Back on Cybertron, he used to pull all sorts of stupid stunts to get people's eyes on him."

"Oh, I see. There were some people like that at Cemetery Wind. Jett had a specific phrase he'd use when referring to them."

"Now you've got me curious. What was the phrase?"

It took about half a second for Zero to remember, and without a care in the world, she blurted out, "Attention whore."

Bumblebee laughed. Cogman gasped. Hot Rod went agog. "Non! Non! Mademoiselle, do not listen to him. He has no idea what he is saying!"

Bumblebee, with a snicker and a revived arrogance about him, said, "Dude, just own it. If you're showing off, you're showing off."

Conscience-stricken and mortified, Hot Rod roared his engine, but was quick to recover and counter Bumblebee by saying, "Ferme la bouche! So today is pick on Hot Rod day, is it? Well then, if you want to talk about ze showing off, then I should remind you of the time you got your first alt mode? You were just a little sparkling, and you were so eager to show everyone. Ah, wait, what kind of alt mode was it again? Oh, zat's right, it was just a teeny-tiny bogie. You were so delighted. I still foster vivid images in my memory cells, so if you'd like me to project them for ze femme to see, then I'd be more than happy to~"

A blanket of blue crept up Bumblebee's face. It was the first time Zero had ever seen him humiliated, and suddenly she felt great evilness emerge from inside her and claw for release.

"It was just a phase!"

Again, that little evil spasm lurched forth, and Zero knew what she had to do. "A bogie, you say? I want to see. Show me right now."

Bumblebee was visibly taken aback and looked at her as if she'd bayoneted him in the chest. Hot Rod rumbled his engine with delight and seductively waved his open car door for her. "Why of course, mademoiselle. Ze shotgun is yours~"

Zero went towards Hot Rod, eager to see the memorial ammunition he had loaded against the little yellow mech. But Bumblebee wasn't having any of it, and before she could contemplate another step further, he shot in front of her and obstructed the way with his arms.

There was a noisy transformation sequence, and before Hot Rod or Cogman could commit any act of reprisal, Bumblebee appeared from around the corner where he'd been parked and plucked Zero up from the pavement with a mechanical hand. He roughly placed her inside his driver's seat and drove off, escaping the situation in a flurry and making off like a bandit.

It wasn't the most graceful escape he'd ever made, and it most definitely wasn't a sweet victory, but at least Hot Rod and Zero hadn't gotten their way.

* * *

 _ **Meanwhile, back in New York...**_

* * *

A battle royale was underway and escalating.

Tupperware receptacles chocked to the lip with questionable powders were spilled out all over the floor, stray bottles of scotch were knocked over every which way, and Jett and Niko rounded each other like a pair of savage afreets. Jett was hot under the collar because Niko had snuck his tech from his Cemetery Wind workroom to the wrong warehouse, thus adding another pointless complication to his ever-growing bullet list of catch-22s and katzenjammers. And since Jeanette wasn't around on this particular day to act as a peacekeeper between the two men, it didn't take long for things to spin out of control and go past the point of no return.

"You fucking bastard!"

"So I'm a fucking bastard. Big fucking deal."

Jett's guise changed from one of hyperborean fair-to-middling to one of bloodthirsty rage. Gripping Niko by the scruff of his shirt, Jett hefted him off the ground, and before Niko could spit out another insult, Jett slammed his face into the musky shag carpet of the bar.

Right off the bat, Niko got a face full of shoe-dust and mat lint and hacked and gasped for breath as Jett merrily twisted his arms behind his back, restraining him and preventing him from breaking free. "Damn you! God fucking damn you, Nikolai! I'll make you wish you were never born!"

Convulsed dinosaur noises emerged from Niko's choked larynx as he took in a quantity frowsty oxygen and regained his nerve. "Fuck off and die, Jett. So I made a tiny mistake. Cry me a river, then go build a bridge and get the fuck over it. As far as I'm concerned, this is exactly what you deserve. Always the holier-than-thou, magniloquent breed of cunt you are, thinking you can just take, take, and take some more. I've been working my asshole off to help you, so don't go crying to me whenever a hatchet flies by and smacks you and your stupid plans into next week."

Jett enhanced his grip on Niko's head, effectively heckling him for a jiff, but not deterring him completely. Niko grunted and said, "God, I hate you so much. In forty fucking years or so when time-machines become legit, I'm going to fucking steal one and go back to when you were five and personally give every registered sex-offender, priest, teacher, mailman, retailer, distant fatass relative, and door-to-door salesman the exact coordinates to your unprotected bedroom so they can sodomize you with a broomstick."

Jett bopped Niko right under the nose, causing a laceration to open up on his lip. "You're a sick little man. A sick, sick little man. Godspeed to whoever shoots you in the head one day. They'll be doing the world a massive favor, taking care of a maggot like you."

Niko sniggered up at Jett, his teeth appearing more sharp and pernicious than usual, and spat directly in his eye.

"Gah-! Dammit!" Jett covered his eyes, shocked and blinded from the salivary razzia.

Niko took advantage of Jett's disorientation and squandered all of his might wriggling free. Because Niko was lithe and quick-witted, he managed to recover and get on his shoes without too much resistance. But when he did, Jett tried to immobilize him once again by grabbing his ankles.

Niko wobbled a few feet forward as Jett's superior strength kept him from gaining the upper hand, and in a millisecond of panic, he took the nearest barstool and bashed it against Jett's knee as hard as he could. Jett went ghostly pale and keeled over from pain without any delay, and the sight filled Niko with sadistic euphoria.

Checkmate.

Though Niko's lip was still gushing blood like a water fountain, he was fresh out of fucks to give about his personal wellbeing. Because he lacked a shred of common vanity, the pleasure of seeing his best frenemy writhe beneath him was all his amour propre required to stand proud.

Jett may have been tough as nails and intimidating as all hell, but everyone at Cemetery Wind knew his Achilles heel was his knee. It was stated directly on his business profile that he'd shattered his tibiofemoral after a mound of rubble nearly crushed him in Chicago. And it was due to this injury that Jett was forced to retire from his martial position in the Cemetery Wind secret forces and was instead switched over to the Communications Center to work as an operative for undercover agents and the X-Battalion.

Jett never did truly recover from the incident, and Niko was thankful for that. If his body had been appropriately fixed via some insane prosthetic mechanization operation, Niko would've lost this donnybrook and been shamed for it for years to come.

Both men met each other's face, and for a long time, they stared at one another.

The electricity between them was palpable, but they each remained thin-lipped until Niko began circling Jett like how a fox would a wounded rabbit and started snickering like a madman.

"What's so funny, eh? I'll exterminate you with one punch for nailing me in the knee, Borscheman. Don't you forget it."

Niko tutted Jett, knelt down, and examined him. To say that he felt like an omega supreme god of death would have been far from accurate. He was a celestial demiurge- an all-powerful cacodemon from the fire and brimstone of Sheol, and his outstretched palm was a goblet filled with his victim's tears. "Famous last words. Just admit defeat like a nonpussy, lick my boots, and suck on my left testicle. I am the victor here. You've lost this battle."

"Kiss my ass; you didn't accomplish anything. Because of your third-grade education and your penchant for looking at dank memes instead of doing your fucking job, my shit isn't where it's supposed to be. And if I get caught, don't think for two seconds that I won't rat you out to the Director. If I'm going to be dragged to the gallows, then you best believe I'm going to take you down with me."

Niko launched into a fit of fury, his countenance fiery and his airspace dangerous, and stomped his foot on the ground. "Take me down with you, huh? You wanna know something? I've had it sky fucking high with your bull, and right now my fingers are itching to grab a knife and liberate you of that fucking cheque right here and now."

Plum-faced, Niko made a move to kick Jett while he was down, but Jett inched away just in the nick of time. Niko's foot tore through thin air, and Jett bared his teeth like a wild dog. Securing Niko's pant leg, Jett yanked him down to the floor. Niko yelped and landed on a box that was placed next to the bar counter. Rubbing his head, he sat up, but not before being tackled again.

"Ragh! Get off of me, you fucking worm! Damn, now look what you did! I swear if you ruined my cargo-"

Jett clicked his tongue, then stared around at the contents that had spilled from the box. After nudging Niko's carcass to the side with his good foot, he picked up one of the tubes off the floor and read the label that was pasted onto it.

Initially, Jett expected the obvious: drugs.

Niko was the local drug lord, after all. He wept tears of Oxy and bled crystal meth, so why wouldn't this box, like all of his others, be filled with his fixed impedimenta?

But no, this box was different because rather than being loaded with tins of hippity, it was-

"NIX?"

Niko did not take kindly to his stuff being strewn about, but his malice from a few seconds prior seemed to quell and dematerialize at the drop of a hat. "Hey, gimme that!" he said quickly, swiping the tube from Jett's hands before scurrying behind his bar.

"Uh, what is that stuff exactly? Isn't it lice cream?"

"None of your business, asshole. Now, make like a tree and go kill yourself. Because of you, I now have a fucked up lip and a fucked up box. I am so billing you for this shit, by the way."

"I'll take that long-winded response as a yes. So, care to tell me why you have a box of lice cream in your possession?"

"As I said, none of your freaking beeswax!"

"Quit pussyfooting around the issue and give me an answer. It'll be an adventure in knowledge."

"Not going to happen."

"What, did you gut some destitute buyer's corpse and contract a parasitic infection? You always did strike me as the type to do that kind of thing."

The mood started to mitigate, and Niko sponged the gore from his mouth with the sleeve of his bartender uniform, staining it rather badly in the process. "No, Jett. Stocking liberal amounts of anti-nit cream is not apart of my standard regimen of recruiting and eventually killing bindlestiffs. A sexually active man simply has to exercise a few precautions."

Jett had to snicker; he couldn't resist the urge. "You? Sexually active? Sorry, but I was under the impression that you hadn't enjoyed proper physical contact with another person's body since _Drake & Josh_ went off the air."

"Spare me your toffee-nosed poppycock, shitbag. I could say the same thing to you."

Niko took a seat behind the counter. Jett mimicked him, sitting himself down on the nearest bar stool, albeit with much difficulty since his knee was siphoning horrific shockwaves of pain up his thigh.

"Hey, Nik. Snatch me a beer, will you?"

"Haha, uh, why the fuck would I do that?"

"Because I want a fucking beer."

"You destroyed my lip. Go find some other bartender to harass."

"You destroyed my knee and misplaced my tech, so I deserve compensation. Beer. Now."

Niko grumbled a bit, not seeming to take the bait. But then he did something that surprised Jett. He turned around and disappeared into the back of his bar, and didn't come out for about five minutes.

Sick of waiting, Jett yelled, "If you don't come out here in two seconds, I'm gonna call the POPO and report you for hoarding wacky tobacky!"

"Fuck the police, fuck the judge, fuck the jury, and fuck the district attorney. Liggity liggity lick my balls!" came a ghostly shout back.

Finally, after a few more seconds of waiting did Niko emerge from his storage room and snottily offer Jett the dirtiest looking can of beer he had ever seen in his life.

"Hilarious. Real fucking hilarious."

Niko decided he'd be courteous. "I was looking all over for the perfect beer for you, and much to my glee, I just so happened to uncover one in the pile of failure-filled housing estate magazines, crack ampoules, and used condoms. I bet the liquid probably tastes like it was produced in a factory for tampons and pesticides, and the aftertaste is akin to a Macbook sprinkled with fried herpes-juice flakes. Bon appetite~"

"Wow, I'm so fucking appreciative. You're the most disgusting person on the planet."

"I try."

"Where did you even find this thing? It looks like it was manufactured back in the 1960s."

"Probably. Lord knows how long it's been back there. Drink it. I dare you."

"Pass. I'd rather not radiate my insides with toxins."

"Says the fucking chain-smoker. I bet you could pave a roadway with all the tar in your lungs."

"Touché."

Jett cracked the beer open. A prolonged, noisy hiss echoed across the room and was followed by the intense acetone-ish scent of ripe booze. Both men's eyes began to water from the potency, which prompted Jett to cover the lid with his thumb. "Hot damn, you could power a car with this stuff."

"That you could. Or a Transformer."

That remark made Jett think. "Nik?"

"What's shakin'?"

"You got everyone convoked, right?"

"Yeah. It wasn't easy at all, but I managed to convince enough of my acquaintances to help out with this little search and rescue of yours. Right now they're just waiting for the go-ahead."

"Good. And as for the equipment, you're going to come with me to get it back."

"Fuck."

"We need that garbage so you can do a deep dive and find out where Angel is. It's not my fault you screwed everything up. Seriously, first you get arrested at the airport, then you crack my car window, and then you go and fuck this up. Can't you ever stay out of trouble?"

"Fine, fine, I get it. You don't have to give me the run-down of all my sins. But when we do get your computers back, I'm going to need access to certain documents so I can figure out where to start."

"Uh, okay? And?"

 _"And,_ " Niko said irately, "those documents can't be digital. If I were to hack into the Director's mainframe, all of us would be busted and blown to meat bits by those psychotic machine-dolls in no time flat. My expertise lies with searching and finding things, not covering my digital footprints so well that a group with the mental sophistication of a super-advanced A.I. can't see what I'm doing. Jett, you and I both know 100% that the Director knows where NEST is holed up. If you access some of his files from inside, no alarm will be set off, and we'll be free to go fetch your toy without any Cemetery Wind interference."

"That's pretty dicey. There's no way the big man would let me within an inch of his physical archives, especially given the recent tension between us."

"What, trouble in paradise? And here I thought you were his prize lapdog."

"You are _such_ a douche canoe."

"So I've heard. Now how are we gonna get our fingers on those documents?"

Jett covered his mouth with his hand; he needed a plan. He couldn't be the one to tiptoe around the Director's quarters since he was too well known and stuck out like a sore thumb. Asking Jeanette to disguise herself and sneak in seemed like an unnecessary risk, so he didn't want to do that either. What Jett needed was someone generic- someone whose presence didn't arouse people's interest or suspicions very much.

For a while he was stuck, but then a switch flicked in his head and he remembered someone who fit that bill to the T.

 _Rissen._

The twat, Moe Rissen.

He was perfect.

* * *

The azure of the early afternoon sky had petered out into a dusky orange by the time Bumblebee arrived back at the manor.

It was about five o' clock; he and Zero had exited their hotel room sometime around three, which meant that they'd been gone for around two hours.

Because she was left with nothing worthwhile to do for Bumblebee's safari through the concrete jungle of London, Zero had dozed off in his backseat after listening to the radio play. She did lodge a complaint with the 'bot after he'd carted her off like an embarrassed child would with their plaything, but didn't bother saying anything more when she realized that no matter how much she went on, he wouldn't relent and go back for fear that Hot Rod would snatch her aside and display the pictures of him in his first alternative mode as a sparkling.

When he did finally decide to call it quits, Bumblebee zoomed around the dorsum of the manor and parked near one of the bristly thickets that crawled their way up the gate walls, trying to be as sneaky as he could. But like the dutiful watchdog he was, Cogman spotted his yellow finish through all of the green and was so quick to arrive on the scene that he might as well have materialized via the ground bridge portal.

"Bumblebee!" seethed Cogman, who looked just about ready to blow a gasket. The fearsome sight of his murderous bronze faceplates shifting over one another made Bumblebee seriously consider burning rubber and getting the heck out of there, but the upheaval caused Zero to stir, and he concluded that the time for running was over. One way or another, he knew he would have to face Cogman's demented alter-ego eventually.

Bumblebee tightened the seatbelt around Zero a few times, spurring her fully. _"Hey, hey,"_ he beeped, which was followed by a line-up of high-pitched discordances. _"Wakey wakey, (static) eggs and bakey."_

Zero rubbed her head, unplugged the seatbelt, and unlocked the car door. Once she did, Bumblebee subtly changed into his robot form.

Cogman went off. "Bumblebee, how dare you go running off after all the preplanning I did for this evening! One little stint from Hot Rod makes you go AWOL like a strutless Minicon? You're lucky my previous lordship taught me how to control myself, otherwise, I would break all of your fingers like I did with Crosshairs last week! For the entire party, you get no high-grade! Got it? None!"

Bumblebee lowered his antennas similarly to how a dog would droop their ears when being scolded by their human.

Cogman didn't like this though and went on with his tirade. "You brought this on yourself, yeah? Remember that when my fist connects with your clypeus and you start hemorrhaging sparks. If Ultra Magnus ever shows up and asks me what your cause of death was, I'll say you turned into a Decepticon and slipped your bonds and attacked me, and I had no choice but to defend myself."

Cogman continued to go off and get more vulgar with his comminations. Several times Bumblebee tried to calm him down, but the nervous warbles he made from his radio only served to goad the crazy 'bot further. A few times he gently nudged Zero for help, but she pretended not to notice and let the madness march on. When Cogman finally finished and stormed off towards Cade's private garage, Bumblebee felt like he had whiplash across his spark. Zero, however, felt fulfilled and followed the pygmy mech with a faint smirk spread across her piquant face. To her, it was about time Bumblebee got an adept yapping at for being so childish. Whenever she took it upon herself to do so with impunity, he always brushed her off with an affectionate pat on the head, so seeing him cower was an incredibly pleasurable sight for her.

When the triune of robots and partial robots entered the empty carport, they were surprised to behold the sight of two women, one older than the other, setting up tables and hanging up flashy folderols.

The older lady, a brunette, radiated joy. "Bumblebee!" she called out as she jogged over to greet him, her mary janes clacking against the solid metal ground beneath her. She had a British accent and a very pleasant tick to her timbre, which increased her charm and made her sound very distinguished. "My, it's been eons, it has! How have you been? Gosh, I can't believe you're here. Look, Tessa, look!"

"Yes, Viviane. I can see he's here," Tessa said with a pleasant chuckle. "Glad you could make it, 'Bee. Long time no see."

Cogman cleared his throat, having cooled down enough for the sake of his masters. "Very well, yes, it has been a minute since he's last visited. A shame the military takes so much of one's vitality away. It makes travel rather hard, especially when you aren't native to this world."

 _"Oh well. It can't (static) be helped,"_ Bumblebee returned with a stiff shrug of his mighty quadrupeds. _"But I'm happy (static) everything worked out."_

"As am I," said Viviane. "Cade's not going to know what whacked him when he sees that you're here for the occasion. I can scarcely wait."

Bumblebee broadcasted an array of high-spirited twitters to everyone around him but stopped when he felt a subtle tap against his armor. It was Tessa. She placed her hand against his thigh, trying to look around at Zero, who was trying to stay hidden behind his leg. "Who's this?"

Bumblebee's antennas shot up; he'd almost forgotten to introduce his charge.

Zero peeked out from behind his leg, feeling unwelcome and looking decidedly uncomfortable. Bumblebee thought her self-effacement was heart-warming, so he took it upon himself to try and bump it up a notch. _"This is my date for_ _(static)_ _the party tonight. Isn't she (static) a cutie?"_

Tessa drew in her breath and covered her mouth, whereas Viviane began chuckling into her palm.

"What!?" Zero shouted, striding past Tessa and stopping before the mech. "I am no such thing. It's lies! Lies, I say!"

 _"She's a bit prickly. Always playing (static) hard to get."_

"Yes, I can see that," Viviane said, innocent mirth dancing in her eyes. "You haven't changed at all, Bumblebee. Still picking on easy targets."

Bumblebee feigned a swoon. _"You wound me, madame."_

Tessa eyeballed the strange person before her. "Hi." She politely extended her hand. "I'm Tessa Yeager. It's nice to meet you. I knew that some soldiers would be accompanying 'Bee today because Cogman told me beforehand, but I'm kind of surprised."

Zero took Tessa's hand and gave it a firm, military-esque shake. "Likewise. I am Zero; you may refer me as such for the sake of pleasantries. And what is surprising?"

Tessa tucked a lock of short dirty blonde hair behind her ear, unsure of the words that she was about to verbalize. "Well, if it's not too forward of me to say, it's just that you look so young. I didn't think NEST would have teenagers in their employ."

"Teenagers? No, you misunderstand. I am not eighteen; I am in my twenties. But thank you for the compliment."

"Really? I'm sorry for the mistake- it's just that you have such an amazing complexion. While you're here, do you mind if I pick your brain about your skin-care routine? I'm pushing thirty, and though Viviane likes to say I'm in the prime of my adulthood, I already feel wrinkly. I'm jealous because if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a doll rather than a human."

"Ah, well, the thing is I don't have a skin-care routine. I only look like this because I was biologically engine-"

Before Zero could say anything more, Bumblebee played a loud crackling noise from his radio, effectively making all the surrounding humans wince. He did this because she wasn't supposed to let the Yeagers know that she was a techno-organic, as that knowledge was strictly classified. _"Ey, (static) Cog- (static) man. Didn't you say that (static) Zero (static) needed clothes?"_

Cogman perked up. "Yes, I did. Ahem, ladies, could we perhaps have a word?"

"I suppose so. Ow, ow…" Tessa moaned, her fingers pressed against her ears to ease the throbbing from Bumblebee's auditory fracas.

Cogman offered Tessa and Zero his arms, which they both wordlessly rejected, and led them away and began discussing Zero's wardrobe, or lack thereof, to be more specific.

Viviane, standing on her tippy-toes and trying to hang up a streamer, said, "Hm, while they take care of that, I have to finish up here. Care to join me, Bumblebee? There are some high-up places I can't reach, and you always did make a for good step-latter."

Bumblebee chirped, and he and Viviane began putting the final touches on Cade's surprise.


	23. The Schnitzel Dilemma

_To give voice to any emotion, you empower it at an incalculable risk._

 _Sadness is the soul-chilling wail of a child lost in the wilderness, clutching the final crust of yesterday's meager sandwich._

 _Listen, and you will know hunger._

 _Delight is the nervous chatter of roller-coaster jockeys, climbing that vertical ascent toward the precipitous apex._

 _Listen, and prepare to fall._

 _Wrath is the belligerent bellow of a charging rhinoceros, head bowed in surprising tribute to the bull's-eye clear in sight._

 _Listen, and await the goring._

 _Fear is the whimper swelling into a scream, the chant of necromancers gathered around the smoking cauldron._

 _Listen, and succumb to their spell._

Zero, first of the X-Battalion but last in their hierarchical social stratum, fancied herself as a logician of many trades, and found that this poem near flawlessly summarized and gave depth to an aggregation of suppositions she otherwise hadn't been able to give voice to.

Though she couldn't remember how she'd initially befriended the verse, she surmised that it likely came from one of the many dozens of tomes she gobbled up on a month-to-month basis. Reading was her constant in times of disputation and animosity, so every day that was what she would do—fill her empty chalices for where emotion should've been stored with erudition that gave her greater cognizance of the immeasurably broad world she occupied.

The thing about the human brain is that it is malleable; easy to sway and take control of. Zero knew this and felt that if logic was everyone's default setting and all ardor or self-abasing was divorceable, then the world would enter an age of prosperity that would be insurmountable to anything ever.

Unfortunately, though, Zero also knew that a scenario like such could never be actualized as long as there was autonomy. Centuries of study confirmed to her that hominid creatures lack absolute mental dependability, as they are easily stimulated by circumstance and manipulated by momentary lapses of judgment.

She didn't see this as an extremely bad thing, necessarily. It was a natural side-effect of the human experience. But for a bauble like herself, it was unimaginable that she be anything other than obedience and placidity incarnate. That's why, when she looked at herself in the mirror, sat in front of Tessa Yeager in a frilly dress, looking like a princess preparing for a grand ceilidh, she felt like a letdown.

The realization that her current sense of self was far removed from the person she was at the beginning of the year was overwhelming. No longer was she an older parallel to her three X brethren, but a mysterious phantasm who haunted the cold flesh and metal that made up what she was supposed to be. Who she was now was frozen steam that escaped burned, scarring her previous paradigm with her own ghastliness.

Zero had been morphed into a strange being that experienced meaningless feelings and did weird things for no reason other than to acclimate to the unique climate around her. And this discernment made her go utterly blank with emptiness, for she had adapted traits that she was never supposed to be able to mimic, let alone understand.

Zero had entered the hivemind of civilians, and though she would never admit it, she didn't know if she even wanted to go back to the world of ghosts and gray hues that she used to deem normal without any question whatsoever.

Tessa didn't know what to think of her visitant, but she did want to break the silence between them. "So... What do you think? Do you like it?"

Zero didn't look away from her reflection. Her fizzog was a deep dark undertow, sucking every light refraction into its endless vortex, not allowing a single molecule to pass by unscathed. "Yes. I like the frilly ones the best. Only the frilly ones."

Tessa sat down on her bed, the mattress making fluffy crunching noises under her body's pressure.

Zero's behavior was different—stiff and not afraid to call a spade a spade. It made Tessa feel incongruous to the point where it neared self-consciousness. But so far nothing super unpleasant had transpired, so she continued on like a trooper. "Okay. Sure. I have plenty of those thanks to Cogman, so if you want, you can have them. That generic rich garb has never been my cup of tea. I'm more of an outdoorsy type than a homebody, so jeans and a T-shirt have always been good enough for me."

"I'll take the matter up with the Autobot," Zero replied. "Because I'm not sure if I will be permitted to wear them after I return to NEST."

"Erm, you mean Bumblebee? And why not? Is there a dress code?"

"Yes, I mean him. And yes, based on my observations, there is a dress code. Everyone's rank is identified through a uniform of some kind, so I doubt that I will be able to do as I please."

"But what about when you go home for the day? You talk as if you live at NEST or something."

Zero bit down on her tongue, stopping herself from saying any more. She'd made an error, having alluded to the reality that she was confined to the walls and floors of the military facility. Wanting to fix her mistake, she said, "Work is a large part of my life, Ms. Yeager. I enjoy it. I prefer the organization."

Tessa began playing with her hair. She still felt awkward, but since she still didn't know what to do about it, she decided to keep up with the small-talk. "So, _Zero_ … That's an interesting name. It kind of sounds like something an Autobot would be called."

Zero finally looked away from the mirror. "It's a codename—an allonym that designates me to my specific infantry."

"An allonym? If I may, could I ask what your real name is?"

Ah, there it was—the big question. Zero abhorred that question with every fiber of her being. It fazed her. It gnawed at her. The string of words that made up the question _'what is your real name?'_ made her bristle. But she didn't show it, because her practical side said that it was a fair inquiry to make. Tessa was merely a curious civilian, not a probing alien who wished to unlock the inner-workings of her mind.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that due to protocol. I have to follow my orders at all times."

"Oh, okay. That's too bad, not even being able to tell people your real name and all. NEST sounds like a difficult place to work at. I guess it's a good thing my father turned Lennox down when the TRF disbanded; I don't think he could've handled all of the regulations being shoved his way. He's a bit of a free-spirit, always tinkering with machines and inventing dumb things. For the longest time I'd given up hope on him ever getting a girlfriend because of it, but luckily Viviane showed up at the right time. Even though he has a lot of fighting experience, seeing how I had to baby him into my teens, I don't think he would've made a good soldier."

Zero was ruminative. "Your father sounds like a rather unconventional man. He must cause you much trouble with his antics."

"He does, but it's okay. I still love him, even if he is a pain in the neck. What about your parents? What are they like?"

"I don't have any. Not from what I can recall."

Horrified by her own words, Tessa covered her mouth. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. I swear I wasn't trying to be insensitive."

"No, don't say sorry. It's not a taxing subject or anything. I have always been alone."

"Always?"

"Always."

"Don't you have any family?"

"No."

"A lover?"

"No."

"A friend?"

"In an odd way, I guess you could say I do have a few friends."

Tessa was sincerely relieved to hear those words. "I'm glad. Bumblebee seems to be pretty fond of you, saying you're his date and all. I have to admit that your little spat with him was kind of funny. You seem to make him happy."

Zero was not amused and stuck her nose up in the air, opprobrious. "That Autobot is always happy. He's such an inner-child that whenever he isn't pestering me with nonsense about American pop-culture, he's either showing off his collection of memes to any poor soul within his radius or watching godawful western movies from the late 1980s. How can a lifeform who has lived out entire epochs be so immature? I can't understand it for a second."

"He's _always_ happy? That doesn't sound like the 'Bee I know. Sure, he's nice and funny and all, but he's been through a lot, especially within these last few years. Dad told me that when he was running from the law in Cuba, 'Bee was having a hard time coping with it all. Eras of warfare and destruction have affected him more than he lets on."

"As it would any empathetic lifeform. But pardon me, Ms. Yeager, when I ask what your point is."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is Bumblebee isn't all you make him out to be. I know because I've seen it. I've seen him kill Decepticons from rage. I've seen him fight his friends and suffer in silence."

Tessa's words reminded Zero of yet another poem, which went as follows:

 _Young humans often react in similar fashion_ — _thoughtless reaction to an action._

 _This provides an endless stream of opportunities for mayhem._

 _Fields of discontent might lie fallow, but when cultivated by sharpened tines of resentment, fertilized with envy,_

 _and sown with seeds of hate, thorny weeds will take root, sprouting and vining and choking off the sustenance of hopelessness and faith in love._

 _But this prolonged process can take decades to bring into fruition._

 _Better the impulsivity of youth, when one black storm cloud pours ambition onto the muddied soil of momentary madness._

"Well, even if he doesn't mean to be, he is an active propagator of a system that encourages butchery and devastation," said Zero. "When one chooses such a path, they can't feign innocence when the time arises for them to endure the repercussions of their decisions."

"But there's more to him than the war," Tessa pressed, feeling relatively protective over her currently absent mechanoid friend. "Have you ever heard of Sam Witwicky?"

Zero reflexively became alert. She felt like she was being screened, or being put under a microscope. She didn't like it one bit. "Yes, I have heard of _Samuel_ Witwicky. He is well known for his feats involving the temporary destruction of Megatron in the year 2007."

"But has 'Bee ever told you anything else? Like how he was Sam's…" Tessa's confidence wavered, for she wasn't sure if it was her place to air out her friend's dirty laundry.

If Bumblebee hadn't felt the need to tell Zero himself, then perhaps it wasn't such a good idea for her to do so for him.

"He was what? Samuel's what?" Zero echoed, displeased with Tessa's reluctance to deliver her counsel of potentially great prudence.

"Nothing. It's nothing," Tessa replied, unsmiling as she offered her attention to the clock above her doorframe. "Hey, could we, uh, change the topic? We've only got an hour until Crosshairs brings Dad back, so do you want to head down and have a drink or snack or something?"

Zero was tempted to cajole Tessa on the matter—to ream the answer out of her and learn more about Samuel Witwicky and his connection to Bumblebee—but decided not to.

Tessa had brought snacks into the mix. And who was Zero to deny herself a snack?

* * *

 _ **Meanwhile, at NEST-HQ…**_

* * *

Lieutenant General Braginsky wasn't known to those who were entangled within his sphere of influence for possessing much in the way of humane commonsensicality.

This was especially true of him on his off days. And unfortunately for everybody within his immediate vicinity, today just so happened to be one of those said off days.

Braginsky was unhappy—no, that was too tame a term to describe the hurricane of epinephrine that had lit the wick of his neurotransmitters on this specific evening. He was beyond livid, and as he barged into Lennox's office, some surrounding officials who were diligently occupying their stations thought they could see a phalanx of ire-filled tendrils rise from the left side head.

"Major!" Braginsky barked with gusto.

Lennox flew up from his paperwork with surprise, and found himself automatically saluting the Lieutenant before saying, "Sir! What seems to be the problem, sir?"

Braginsky wasn't having any of it. "Cut the crap, Major. You better explain to me where the hell my report is in the next ten seconds, or I'll genuinely consider petitioning Congress to dock your monthly payroll. I don't have enough hours in the day or the spare energy reserves to keep up with all of my employees, let alone the friggin' Major General of the non-biological extraterrestrials. So tell me—where's my report?"

With his usually lax mental state thrown off balance, Lennox started to hurriedly think back to all of the assignments he'd received within the preceding week. But when he came up short, he grew even more discombobulated than he was just a few seconds before. As far as he was aware, he was on top of everything. With all of the stress surrounding Bumblebee's secret four-day excursion to London, he had made sure that he'd turned in what was necessary so that nothing would bog down his consciousness as he kept pace with Vale whenever he asked where his favorite semi-human patient was.

Braginsky planted his hands on Lennox's desk. "The report, Major. I'm only going to ask you one more time. Where. Is. It?"

Lennox was tempted to fall back—to withdraw and demand why he was being put under such random scrutiny—but maintained his ground and feigned perfect placidity. "Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to request that you be a bit more specific. All day every day, when I'm not advising recruits and maintaining order, I'm filling out report after report. Have you checked your Gmail or your work mailbox?"

"I wouldn't be over here if I hadn't. Major, I'm talking about the Hoover Dam report. You were supposed to contact our squadron there and deliver me an update on the situation following the reactor incident. Please, for the love of God, tell me my secretary issued the report to you."

"He did not. I haven't received any directions pertaining to the Hoover Dam since, what, eight weeks ago?"

Braginsky visibly sunk, and his arms quivered from what Lennox presumed to be wrath in its purest form. The man was mum, save for the few shallow breaths he made as if to hold back a growl or an order for a firing squad.

Lennox was apprehensive about interrupting the noiseless meltdown for fear that he would make the already chaotic situation worse, but his body betrayed his mind when he said, "Lieutenant?" in a cautious voice.

The muscles in Braginsky's biceps tautened. "Well," he said, "I know who I'm firing next. The first time I don't get a report, I get furious. The second time I don't get a report, I get wicked. I apologize for my quickness to admonish you, Major. I was under the impression that my secretary had gained some level of cognizance after screwing up last time. Ugh, first Mikhail obliterates his house, then the crap with the schnitzels, and then this. I don't get paid enough to deal with the plague of idiots that work this place."

Lennox's mouth twisted from a lack of understanding. "Wait, wait—go back. _Schnitzels?_ I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Oh no. Do _not_ tell me you didn't hear about that incident."

"I didn't."

Braginsky's nostrils flared.

"What happened?"

"Where do I even begin?! Someone in basic threw their half-eaten schnitzel into one of the third division toilets and tried to flush it. Obviously it didn't flush, so the perp left, likely thinking that the janitors would take care of it for him like his mother did with his dirty diapers."

"Did you find out who it was?"

"You bet I did. I made it my mission to find out who the pig was that threw that fucking schnitzel into the toilet, so I got a few guys to look at the hallway cameras and sift through the footage. It was some fucktard named Aberdeen; he was in direct view of the camera, and what do you know, he was the only person that day to go in there with food. I personally went down to his barracks, yanked him out of his bunk, and forced him to fish that piece of schnitzel out with his bare hands. He's lucky I didn't make him eat it, too."

The amount of restraint it took Lennox to remain neutral was enough to nearly make his eyes water. But luckily for him, Braginsky didn't seem to notice this and continued talking at length. "Every so often I wonder if there's something in the water that causes people's brains to shrink, 'cause that Aberdeen is about as dumb as they come. I'll make sure the sight of that schnitzel haunts his memory until the day he's turned into mish-mash by a Decepticon's right hook."

Lennox wanted to laugh so bad and knew that if he allowed Braginsky to continue ranting about Aberdeen and the schnitzel, then he would. Deciding that he didn't want to end up in deeper trouble than he already was, he said, "For what it's worth, I think Aberdeen learned his lesson after having to stick both of his hands into a public toilet. Anyway, the Hoover Dam report. What would you have me do about that, sir?"

"That, Major, is an excellent question. I suppose I don't have much of a choice but to have you call in and carry out an inquiry as soon as you're free. But make sure you get it done ASAP. National security is at stake. No pressure or anything."

 _Well, there goes my lunch break._ "Right. I'll work with haste."

Braginsky got up to walk away. But like their last meeting, he stopped before the door, his hand wrapped around the knob, not quite ready to fully twist it yet. "Oh, one last thing. I've meant to cross-examine you about the current state of the prisoner in our care. Is she doing well, being held under an Autobot's thumb at all times? Is she still scarfing up meals like the local fat kid on Halloween night, not affirming anything at all whenever asked about her employer?"

"I assume yes, yes, and yes," Lennox answered, feeling like a boy in boot camp again.

Braginsky laughed quietly, pruning his lids while smiling widely. "Forward, I know. But I want to haul her down to the I.C. for a fresh round of questioning. Our special ops boys submitted a good roster of suspects to our board recently, and I'd like to see what she has to say about each of them. Something tells me I won't be so unlucky if I have a detective or two grill her on all the supplementary information our internal investigation has uncovered this time 'round."

Lennox instantly rigidified with worry. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, I thought maybe I'd pay her death-machine of a correctional officer a visit tomorrow and take her from his hands for a while," Braginsky divulged, appearing palled. "But between you and me, that specific robot happens to annoy the ever-loving shit out of me. The radio voice definitely doesn't do him any favors. Every time he pipes up during a meeting, I feel like my ears are on the verge of combustion."

"Wait, _tomorrow?_ " Lennox asked, moving forward with intent, praying he was somehow mistaken.

Braginsky stroked his chin. "Yes. Does there happen to be something wrong with that?"

Lennox dialed himself back a bit, not wanting to expose the internal terror he'd been stockpiling inside his chest.

This was critical. Bumblebee still had two more days left in London. If Braginsky found out, it'd be game over.

Lennox needed an excuse—a way to hold Braginsky off. But most importantly, he had to be quick. Braginsky was right at the door, now looking more ready than ever to get the heck out of dodge.

"Lieutenant," Lennox said as he thought up a decent lie. "I hate to say that there is something wrong with that."

"Oh? Then enlighten me. Really, please do."

Lennox forced a smile. "As you already know fairly well, Bumblebee reports directly to me for most of his issues pertaining to the agent in our custody."

Braginsky's pupils shrank into pinpoints—a visible queue that his bubbliness was collapsing in on itself like a dying neutron star. "So what? Major, I have other matters I need to be tending to. I only came in here to bitch you out for not handing in the report."

"I know. What I'm trying to say is that I think it would be best if you held off on extracting the inmate from Bumblebee's care for the next two to three days. The reason for this is because he recently notified me that she's been experiencing some, err, _issues_."

"Fantastic—here we go again. Let me guess, she freaked out from the drugs again."

"Correct. A member of our medical staff recommended to me that she be put on bed rest until she can get a hold of her bearings," Lennox explained, taking advantage of Braginsky's crude assumption. "The side effects of withdrawal can be rather crippling, you know."

"Yeah, whatever. Fine. I'll give it a few more days. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be off. Good day, Major. And good luck with the Hoover Dam report. You're gonna need it." Braginsky opened the door and walked out, letting it swing shut on its own.

Lennox's eyes crinkled at the corners as his lips moved upward in disbelief.

Somehow, by some miracle, he managed to accomplish the unthinkable.

He out-snaked the snake.

* * *

When Cade Yeager awoke in the driver's side of Crosshairs' seat, he was befogged and disoriented.

The change had taken place while he slept; no longer did the golden quintessence of the sun drift in through the windows of his alien chariot and blanket him in warmth and comfort. Rather, in its place was a hellish black mire which extended about him in monotonous undulations as far as his vision could reach.

For a minute Cade thought he was still dreaming, as it didn't fully register with him that the day had come to pass and the night now took its stead. But when Crosshairs jerked his seat forward, causing Cade to bump his forehead on the steering wheel, his limbo broke in two.

"Ey, time to get up and at 'em," Crosshairs said a bit too loud for his guest's comfort. "My gears are achin' for a break after all the punishment I've been puttin' 'em through—what with carryin' both you and your lorryload of scrap all day. I wanna transform, so scoot."

Cade rubbed his forehead. "Five seconds back home after a day's worth of shopping and sightseeing on my birthday and what do I get? A heaping helping of your usual dickery. Love you lots, Crosshairs."

"Love you too, mate," Crosshairs chaffed good-naturedly.

Cade pushed the car door open and headed towards the trunk.

Once he finished unloading all of his stuff, Crosshairs swiveled and whirled, stretching himself out like a gymnast on a yoga mat, cracking all the ball-joints that made up his spinal-column.

Cade looked repulsed by the noise but proceeded to gather as many bags as he could and walk towards his garage, which was subsequently connected to the manor. "Yo, stop being gross and help me with these bags. I don't want to make two trips."

Crosshairs finished off his bodily round-off by cracking his neck. "Cut me some slack, Cade; I've been on the road since three in the afternoon. My joints are still messed up from last week's Cogman assault. My fingers are throbbing like a motherfragger after he snapped them all to the protoform. And what's more, my audios are still ringin' from your loud-ass snoring. You should probably see a doctor about that, by the way. A few times I thought I was gonna have to pull over and do the Heimlich to get you breathing again."

Dismissive yet enlivened, Cade said, "Please? It is my birthday today."

"You're milking this birthday slag for all it's worth," Crosshairs relented as he lifted the remaining bags off the ground.

Cade fished his garage remote out from the inside of his sweatshirt pocket. Clicking the button that performed his desired outcome, he waited. And waited. And waited.

Cade clicked the button again, but alas, it did not work. "Huh?" he whispered, trying once more, but still receiving no results.

"Thing's busted, mate," Crosshairs sussed. "Pressin' that gadget repeatedly isn't gonna help none."

"Nonsense, Crosshairs. It can't be busted; the light is still blinking. And it was working perfectly fine when we left."

Cade kept clicking the remote, which annoyed Crosshairs a little more than it probably should have. "I dunno, then maybe the batteries died? Just cut it out and go around the front."

Cade sighed and pocketed the doodad, coming to terms with his L. "The front it is, then. But when we finish unloading all of this stuff, I'm going to check out the garage. I want to get to the bottom of this."

"Whatever floats your boat."

Cade and Crosshairs began their unsteady trek around the flank of the manor, cursing in tandem with one another every time a bag threatened to slide out of their arms and spill their day's spoils across the well-cut lawn.

But what Cade didn't know was that Crosshairs had preplanned this malfunction alongside Cogman and Tessa and Viviane. Whenever there was a technological mishap at the manor, Cade always had to be the one to fix it. His inventorism, as Tessa liked to call it, got in the way of his ability to ignore and leave an issue about machines to those better equipped than him. Tessa and Viviane wanted him to enter the garage organically, so they knew that by having Cogman hold the door down from the inside, it would incite a sense of unquenchable curiosity in Cade that would leave him with no choice other than to check out his soon-to-be celebration hall with promptitude.

Together, Cade and Crosshairs dealt with the issue of the bags. And when they finally finished, Cade bounded towards the spiral staircase that led into the garage.

As Cade descended into the darkness of his home, Crosshairs comm-linked Cogman, telling him that everything was about to be set in motion.

Cogman silenced those waiting in the dark around him, and when the door opened and the lights flicked on, everything was revealed.

* * *

 ** _A/N: The two p_** ** _oems are from the book 'People Kill People,' by Ellen Hopkins._**


	24. Informational Headway

Though inconvenient, hunting Moe Rissen down wasn't the most challenging thing in the world for Jett to do.

Sure, he had to zigzag through a mob of stampeding squaddies on their way to brunch. And sure, he was technically on vacation, which meant that he had to lay low so that the upper echelons of his sect wouldn't espy him, but that was all nil when juxtaposed against the drumlins of pitfalls he'd been forced to thole within the last few months of his already lackluster existence.

Jett maneuvered in between a few more of his kinsmen and happened upon a table. Seated at the table was a pentad of intelligencers whom he recognized as colleagues from the C.D. "Howdy," he said, commanding their attention by way of a crisp gesticulation. "Ten bucks to whoever can tell me where that muff-snacker Rissen is. Oh, and if the name doesn't ring any bells, then he's the one with the strawberry blonde hair, babyface, and the look that screams 'I would be the first newbie to get boned if I ever happened to end up in prison.'"

Recognition appeared across one woman's face. She pointed away from herself, and Jett felt his perusal land on a figure who was seated in an obscure corner of the accommodation. He grew giddy and started walking away, but the lady who'd offered him directions wasn't done yet.

"Hold your horses; where's my cash? I helped you out, didn't I?"

"You'll get your shekels once I secure my patsy," Jett quipped over his shoulder, the condemnatory moues he received from the jaywalkers who were crowded around him being the least of his concerns.

Rissen sat solo, oblivious to his surroundings as he sifted through his matches on a dating site while munching down on a jelly-filled donut.

Jett strode right up to his prey with an attitude that said he meant business and waited patiently for an acknowledgment of his presence.

When Rissen finally stopped what he was doing, he drew back for emphasis on his disesteem for Jett. "Nice. Real nice. It's the jackwagon with the knee and the yakuza bod. Didya come back to piss on me for good measure?"

Jett made a noise that was an unholy fusion between a scoff and a half-suppressed burble. "So what if I did? Does that bother you?"

"Just a smidgen, yeah."

"Good." Jett pulled out a chair for himself and took a seat. This action evoked a stressy rictus from Rissen, but nothing else.

Jett determined that frankness would be the key to getting his way and carried on by saying, "It's been a while, hasn't it? Since you and I interacted in the concert hall, that is. Do you remember how I said you had the right opinions? Well, I have a job for you that may or may not pertain to the subject of our conversation from then."

Rissen took a quick bite out of his donut. He looked tickled, albeit in a catty, uncaring sort of way. "A job? Why on planet Earth would I want a job, especially from you? I'm living the dream in my current position. Unlike the other guys and gals around here, I don't have to risk my life going after those space-faring civilization destroyers whenever something spine-chilling happens. All I get to do is kick back, deal with foreign investors, communicate with our agents when necessary, and watch _Game of Thrones_ re-runs while collecting my fat coin at the end of every week. So thanks but no thanks, 'cause I think I'll keep on living the easy life. I'm no proletariat."

 _So much for being cordial,_ Jett thought as he took a dekko at his wristwatch. It was time for his more belligerent side to come forth and play bad cop since his good cop persona was failing so miserably. "Okay, listen to me, you ungrateful walking-toilet. The kind of venture I'm offering you is elementary. You do me a teeny-tiny favor, and I pay you a generous sum. It's not like I'm asking you to bag hookworms along some roach-infested park avenue on a hot summer's day. I'm talking about fulfilling a task so menial that a four-year-old orphan with progeria could do it with their fingers chopped off while gaining a record profit that you could use for, say, traveling to some hot spot in the Philippines with an infinite supply of hooch. Or escorts. Did I ever mention that you strike me as the type of degenerate who'd blow all their cash on escorts? Because you do."

Rissen stretched out his arms and then did something that Jett hadn't expected—he dissolved into a fit of vigorous laughter and held his sides as if to restrain himself from rolling into the aisles that surrounded him. He went on like this for a short while, drifting in-between offense and disbelief with each hoot, but gradually regained his calm and said, "Sterling, if you're one of those people who gets their thrills out of collecting unsuspecting normies and taking them home and making sausages out of their guts, then I pass. I'd rather keep my guts, thank you very much."

"Uhh? Excuse me?"

"Righto, if you don't want my guts, then what? Sexcapade with you and the old lady? And when you're done, drug me with Rohypnol, peel my toenails off, skin me alive, and stuff my brains into a hollowed-out Hello Kitty figurine?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You sound just like Nikolai Borscheman."

"Nikolai Borscheman…? Hang on, doesn't that guy have latent narco-terroristic tendencies? And didn't he take a literal shit in the Director's feeding tube after he quit a few years back?"

* * *

"ACHOOOOO!"

Jeanette froze and stopped scrolling through her feed. "Darling, if you're going to snot all over the place, then please do me a favor and get the hell away from me. I don't know how many life-threatening diseases you carry inside that disgusting body of yours."

Niko sniffled loudly and wiped his nose off with his sleeve without a second thought. "Leave me alone, horse face. You're not even supposed to be here. I already told you that Jett canceled the meeting and that this is a skank-free zone. ACHOO!"

Jeanette got up from the stool she was sitting on and took a few steps backward. "Whatever. My phone died so I never got the message. But aside from that, at least get a damn tissue instead of spreading your filth around like a Philistine. You always act like following basic social protocol is as difficult as decoding the Zodiac killer's ciphers."

Niko sneezed again, this time into the crook of his arm, and reached over the bar counter to grab one of the many napkins that were laid out by his tip jar. "Yadda, yadda, yadda. ACHOO! Guhh, this is bad. My cuck senses are firing off like a school shooter's second-hand assault rifle."

Jeanette maintained her distance. "Cuck senses? Do I even want to know?"

Niko furiously blew his nose into the napkin. "Yes, Jean. My cuck senses. See, you know how Spider-Man has his spidey-senses? Well, I have cuck senses. I had a riffraff in my bar once who got all pissed off over the bill and decided he wanted to pick a fight with me. And because he was a beta of the highest caliber, he scratched me and gave me my cuck senses. Ever since then, my nose oozes fluids like my mother's malformed urethral canal whenever a cuck mentions my name. AH-ACHOO!"

"Hmmm. In a weird way, that reminds me of that time we visited that nightclub near Wall Street for that one date, and that guy who was tripping off of PCP saw you leering at my ass on the dancefloor and decided to give you what for. Fun times, yes?"

"Heh, I almost forgot about that. He called me Perv McSwerve, latched onto my earlobe, and threatened to cook my nuts into fricandeau after slicing them off with a broken lager bottle. Ah, memories. Wall Street. PCP. Mangled earlobes. Squirrelly fucks. Fun times, indeed."

* * *

"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. It doesn't matter, Rissen. I'm on the level."

"You're on the level, are you? Ha! You're killin' me, Smalls."

Jett's train of thought derailed at the realization that the situation was starting to go south. _Perhaps I should've held off on the insults,_ he thought, feeling grim. _I've been hanging around Nik too much. His poxiness has a way of rubbing off on those around him like a virus. Dammit._

"Okey-dokey, Sterling. I've had enough," Rissen said parsimoniously, taking Jett's stillness as an admission of libertinism. "You're sending up all sorts of red flags, and do you wanna know what I have to say to that? Bad mojo, no bueno. I think we're done here." He covered his donut and started acting like he was going to sit up, but before he could, Jett snatched his wrist, forcing him back down into the chair.

"Sorry, mate. I can't let you do that just yet. The job—it involves the Director."

"What did I already tell you? No sexy shit!"

"Shut up. I'm not done yet. I need you to sneak into the record office and gather some of the documents the Director has on NEST. Oh, and before you ask, I have a keycard since I rank higher than you, so that's how you'll get in."

Rissen uncovered his donut, taking a more gradual bite out of it this time around. "But why me of all people?" he said with a full mouth. "And if the Director allotted you access in the past, then why can't you do it yourself? You're not being completely transparent with me. You're withholding something. It's sketching me out."

"I'm asking you because of what you conveyed to me at One-X's conclave. You said you didn't appreciate how the Director was handling the Zero-X situation. That indicates to me that you aren't a total piece of crap, and I can place some level of trust in you. And I can't do it myself because the Director and I haven't been seeing eye-to-eye on a few things lately. I'm not really in a position to be stepping on his toes."

"Good god, you and the Director are having a tiff? Ew. Anyway, let's say I do accept this job and complete your petty errand. What's in it for me? What kind of cash are you talking about?"

Jett reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. He wrote down a number on a napkin and offered it to Rissen, who took it with vigor. Rissen stared at the figure with patent reverence, but said, "I'm not completely sold yet, Sterling."

"I'll add an extra five bucks and a meal-ticket to Steak n' Shake."

"I'm in."

* * *

For the first hour of the party, all Cade did was talk to Bumblebee.

Zero originally thought it best to stay by Bumblebee's side, but once she realized that his interests didn't align with keeping her preoccupied, she sauntered off. But prior to her recession into the canvas of detail that made up the fetching environment she resided in, she listened keenly to everyone as they yammered on behind her.

Bumblebee: _"I have a question."_

Cade: "Go for it."

Bumblebee: _"Where are (static) Izabella and (static) Sqweeks?"_

 _ **THUMP!**_

Cogman: "Good gracious, Crosshairs! What's the matter with you? Can't you see I'm carrying a full platter here?!"

Crosshairs: "Darn, my bad. Wait, wait, Cogman! _No!_ It was an accident! I swear it was—!"

 _ **CRUNCH!**_

Crosshairs: "Ow, that was my thumb! My _fuckin'_ thumb! _Primus,_ it hurts so bad!"

Cogman: "Shush now. You're such a sparkling."

Cade: "Izabella? Oh, uh, after Viviane and I took her in, something awful happened to Sqweeks. I don't know; it was some kind of malfunction in his neocortex or something. I tried fixing him, 'Bee, I really did, but nothing worked. Hot Rod and Cogman tried to assess the damage, but not even they could figure out the exact cause of death. Crosshairs thinks it was a spark burnout. At any rate, it devastated her. She was depressed for a long time, but she eventually came to accept what happened. After she got her emotions in check, she decided she wanted to study abroad in Spain. She said a change of scenery was in order, and since Viviane and I gained all of the inheritance from Sir Edmund Burton after he passed, we decided to make it happen. She's constantly sending me pictures of the campus and selfies with all the friends she's made. I can tell she's really happy over there."

Bumblebee: _"You can't blame yourself for what happened. It wasn't your fault."_

Cade: "I know, I know. Seeing her like that just struck me hard is all. I just wish things could've turned out different."

Bumblebee: _"I get how you feel."_

Cade: "I know that, too. You know better than anyone about things like senseless loss."

Bumblebee generated a buzzing noise, one that Zero identified as being of terrible malaise. Most of his buzzes sounded identical to the untrained ear, but she had come to discern the differences in pitch and frequency that he used when expressing various emotions.

Cade: "Hey, 'Bee. _Grimlock._ Remember Grimlock?"

Bumblebee: _"How could I not?"_

Cade: "What happened to him and the other Dinobots? After you and the others rejoined NEST, I never received any updates. Are they still taking bites out of cars like they're apples?"

Bumblebee: _"Actually, I can't say. The last time I checked, he and the others were at (static) Mor_ — _(static) shower's."_

Cade: "Morshower's? For what reason?"

Bumblebee: _"He wanted to isolate them on (static) Diego Garcia. He said they (static) were too brutal and needed to be trained."_

Crosshairs: "The pain! Lord Primus, the pain!"

Cogman: "It's just a scratch!"

Crosshairs: "A _scratch?!_ Do you see all this Energon?! You're crazy!"

Cade: "And they're still there? Even after all this time? That's wild. When they were with us in Cuba, they were trouble, yeah, but Grimlock eventually learned how to listen to me."

Bumblebee: _"A whole lot of us tried appealing the sentence. But it was a moot effort."_

Cade: "Man, it's been too long. I should be aware of all this. Maybe I should've..."

Bumblebee: _"Don't. Trust me, don't. You made the (static) right choice leaving it all behind."_

Cade said nothing, and that was that.

Zero had no way of knowing how the rest of the conversation went because, by that point, she decided it was no longer her place to eavesdrop and moved out of earshot. She snagged a large bottle off of one of the tables and stepped outside, exiting the kickback and setting off towards the manor's expansive garth.

Even when blanketed by the murk of nightfall, Zero felt arrested by the beauty of the scene. Cloisters of flowers grew side-by-side in harmonic consonance, their contrasting pigments composing a prepensive rainbow which twiddled around trellises that behaved as gateways to the numerous paths that laid in secret, just out of the eye's reach.

Zero took it upon herself to stand underneath one of these trellises. Moonlight waved in and out of the viny bougainvilleas that clung to the wood, adding an extra dash of mystique to the munificence of the patch. She maundered down the pathway, listening intently to the stealthy rustles and shuffles of those who were carefully observing her from the shadows, waiting for her to do something fishy so they could subdue her accordingly.

She had no intention of doing anything wrong; the cons outweighed the pros by an electoral landslide. The hollowness of a coup d'état was made absolute in her mind when she traced the rim of her collar with the tip of her finger. After a brief mo, she stopped fiddling with the device around her neck and resumed her journey, her ultimate destination being a small gazebo that rested soundly at the very center of the garden.

When Zero got to the gazebo, she noted that it more closely resembled a belvedere than anything else. The walls were predominantly glass, save for the wooden beams that outlined the outer architecture. The floors were carpeted, the inside was elegantly furnished, and there was even a lamp on one of the side tables, indicating that it was hooked up to electric as well. Zero was far from surprised. The initial shock of the Yeagers' exquisite lifestyle had long since worn off, and now, like with most things, she was indifferent to their uncos and wherewithals.

Zero plopped herself on one of the furnishings and gazed outside. She could see the lights of the manor flash and hear the subdued hubbub of everyone chortling and whooping in the distance. This told her that whatever banter that was going on now was far less somber than what she'd ascertained from Cade and Bumblebee. She exsufflated a breath and clutched the neck of the bottle that she'd pilfered. Like everything else around her, it glinted in the darkness like a precious jewel. She knew what kind of contents laid within, and also knew that Jett wouldn't have approved. He never let her drink alcohol; it was his sole rule on what she couldn't consume.

 _But Jett isn't here,_ Zero thought as she wrenched the cap off. _He hasn't been for a long time._

* * *

As the night went on, Bumblebee felt more at ease.

Confabulating with Cade, Viviane, Tessa, Hot Rod, Crosshairs, Cogman, and even the other human partygoers was Bumblebee's equivalent to taking a hot bath, as questions that had mucked around his processor for years were washed away in one fell swoop.

Cade's British friends—all of whom Bumblebee had spoken with but hadn't learned many of the names of—pleasantly surprised him. They did not feel hectored by his presence; they welcomed him and joined him in idle chatter, untroubled by what he was. Bumblebee found this notable—usually human civilians grew jittery whenever he entered so much as their peripheral without his holoform.

Bumblebee asked Cade about their indifference, mostly out of skepticism than anything, and learned that they were all associated with Sir Edmund Burton to some degree, and had several past interactions with Hot Rod & Cogman under their belt, hence their lack of febrility.

This filled Bumblebee with cheerful disposition; he didn't like it when humans feared him. Some Autobots did since it made them feel tough, but not him. _"True strength lies within one's ability to show compassion—to empathize with those different than them,"_ was a quote the little mech often thought of. It had come from Optimus Prime; many of his favorite quotes did.

But others didn't.

Some came from one earthling whom he'd spent more time with than any other. Many of them ranged from moderately dumb to ridiculously bovine, (Sam Witwicky was a bit of an oddball who was usually more interested in reciting lines from random _Spongebob_ episodes than impressing those around him) but others held weight. One said a quote that held weight went like this: _"Compassion is a quality I value most in a friend because compassion is an action word that has no boundaries."_

Bumblebee paid that quote particular attention because it was one of the last things Sam ever said to him before he, his parents, girlfriend, and ex-girlfriend were killed in cold blood by Harold Attinger's lackeys.

That night truly did haunt Bumblebee, but that was a story he actively avoided reminiscing on, so he sometimes had to force Sam out of his head. The boy's legacy usually had a way of turning invasive when given further remembrance.

As previously mentioned, at this stage of the gathering, Bumblebee was relatively at ease. It was nearing midnight, and many of the guests were on their way out. Cade and Viviane were saying their goodbyes over a few cans of beer, Tessa was wrapping the leftover cake up with cling film, and Cogman was off with Crosshairs, likely cauterizing his wounded thumb or downing a couple of cubes of high-grade at his expense.

Bumblebee watched all of this from the sidelines of the garage. But as he did so, he could feel something chivvying at his spark. He didn't know the reason nor the cause, but he felt like he was missing something. There was an absence he couldn't quite understand.

But when a machinist marched by, he remembered.

 _Zero._

She'd been by his side at the beginning, but at some point, he lost track of her, and now he had no idea where she was. Quickly, Bumblebee shinnied over to the person, giving them an unintentional spook as he did so.

"Crikey!" the machinist yipped out of reflex, taken off guard by the alien that hovered from above.

Bumblebee didn't dawdle. _"Have you seen (static) my charge?"_

The machinist grabbed at their chest as a way of soothing their leftover panic. "Was that honestly necessary?! Are you trying to give me a freaking heart attack?"

Bumblebee repeated his question, and the machinist huffed. "Of course I have. We've all been taking shifts watching her from that giant-ass garden. She's in that shelter thing in the middle. She's been in there forever now."

Bumblebee thanked the machinist with a chirrup and jogged away from the party, eager to collect his so-called date.

When he got to the ingress of the garden, he was unsure as to how he would go about navigating it. The pathways were about the total width of one of his feet, and the flowers didn't leave him much wiggle-room. He contemplated switching into his holoform to make his life easier but decided in the end that it'd be a bad idea. He was a bit burned out from all the socializing, which was a problem his holoform required a surplus of energy to function correctly.

Bumblebee relinquished the thought of the holoform and chose to make the trek to the gazebo slow and easy. Delicately placing one foot in front of the other, he spread out his arms, trying to keep his balance as he went about avoiding the innocent plant life that encroached on the berm. All in all, the walk took him about ten minutes longer than it should've, but he didn't mind since the view was pretty.

When Bumblebee found the structure Zero was hiding in, he knocked on the door with his finger and waited patiently for her to answer him afterward. He heard a few scuffs and thuds that undoubtedly came from the inside, but received no answer. He knocked again and nearly said something, but held his radio dial when the door creaked open, revealing the shape of his umbrous charge.

 _"So this is where (static) you've been hiding all this time?"_ he said in a dulcet resonance. _"Please don't tell me you've been (static) out here by yourself all night."_

Zero didn't reply. She just giggled. _G_ _iggled._

Bumblebee was instantly lost and thought he misheard her say something. Zero wasn't a giggler. Hell, she wasn't a laugher or a crier or anything. He had heard her laugh before; it was low and lilting. But this noise was high-pitched and girly, a.k.a. very un-Zero-like. _"Could you say that louder for the people in the back?"_

Zero giggled again and shut the door, hard.

If Bumblebee wasn't lost before, then he certainly was now. _"Hey! Open up!"_

"What's the password?"

 _"The what now?"_

"Noooope! Wrong answer. You get two more tries!"

Bumblebee's faceplates shifted. _What is going on here?_ _Why is she acting like this?_

Then Zero opened the door once more, seeming blasé. "Ugh, never miiiind," she said loosely. "You'd never guess it right anywayyyy…"

Two things hit Bumblebee straightaway. The first one of these things was the sight of the large and very much empty bottle Zero held in her hand. The second thing was the scent. She smelled like alcohol.

 _"Oh no…"_ he deadpanned, comprehension running him over like a bus. _"You're drunk, aren't you?"_

Zero tried to move forward but stumbled and fell onto the ground almost immediately. She tried to get up again, but fell once more, and took it upon herself to burst into a fit of childish laughter. "Hahahaha! I'm not drunk! I'm floatyyyy!"

 _"Did I say drunk? I meant hammered."_

"I am _noooot!_ " Zero slurred like a valley girl. "I just had a— _hic!_ —few sips."

Bumblebee buried his face in his hands. _"Oof. You've had way more than that."_

"Did not!"

 _"Did too."_

"Did not!"

 _"Did too."_

"Did not!"

Bumblebee saw that this was going nowhere and figured he would try to flip things around. _"Did not."_

She fell for his trap. "Did too!"

 _"Gotcha. Normal (static) Zero (static) never would've fallen for that."_

Zero deflated, then started to pout as she attempted to get herself up off the sidewalk. Unsurprisingly for someone in her state, she wobbled to and fro and probably would've face-planted into the flowers if Bumblebee hadn't been there to catch her with his hands. Hoisting her up by the waist, he carefully placed her upon his shoulders, allowing her legs to dangle lazily at his sides.

Naturally, Zero felt the need to retaliate and said, "Heeeey! Put me downnnn!"

 _"No way, José."_

"Please?"

 _"You're way too inebriated to walk on your own."_

"But I don't wanna be carried, Bumblebee!"

 _"If I let you do that, you'd hurt yourself. No."_

Bumblebee stepped through the garden again, mindful of Zero's presence on his shoulders. Never in a thousand years would he allow her to fall, but just in case, he covered her back with one of his digits to stay on the safe side. The alcohol might as well have turned her into a noodle with all the back and forth swaying she was doing.

Nothing more was said between the two and Bumblebee kept a steady pace until he had an _'aha!'_ moment. _"...Wait. Did you just call me (static) Bumblebee?"_

"Mhmm. So?" Zero garbled.

 _"I think that's the first time I've ever heard (static) you call me by my real name."_

"Reallyyyy? I think I've called you Bumblebee before…"

 _"Nope. All you ever call me is (static) Autobot."_

"I don't _just_ call you Autobot..."

 _"True. Sometimes you shake things up (static) and call me (static) alien."_

Zero had no clue what to say to that; her mind was too fuzzy to process his words. The only thing she could handle was her own whirling thoughts, and she wanted to share them. "Heeeey... Can I tell you a— _hic!_ —secret?"

 _"A secret? Like what?"_ Bumblebee answered back, not expecting anything substantial. She was drunk, and like drunk Cybertronians, drunk humans had a knack for jibber-jabbering.

"I talked to Tessa earlier. She asked me what my name is..."

 _"Really?"_

"You asked me that before."

 _"I did."_

"I don't really— _hic!_ —like that question. You wanna know whyyyy?"

 _"Why?"_

"It's because I can't remember. I can't remember my name. I can't remember a lotta things. Nothing at all before the age of twelve. The Director told me I got hit in the head real bad ten years ago. During the Unicron thingy— _hic!_ —or something. But I dunnoooo. Hey, 'Bee? I'm sleepy tired. Can we go home?"

Bumblebee stopped cold, his optics bigger than the moon. _Information._ Zero had just given him information.

"'Bee? 'Beeee? Why'd you stop?" Zero said as she yanked at his antennas.

It was horrible information.

"'Beeee? Why aren't you listening to me?"

It was shocking information.

"Aww, you're so mean. You and Jett are such meanies. You never listennnn!"

It was unexpected information.

"Oh well. I'm going to use you as a pillow. Nighty night..."

And it blew him away.


	25. Drunk Aftermath

Bumblebee, still goggle-eyed, gave Zero a severe judder. _"Don't fall asleep. Is that true?"_

Zero raised her head and tottered to the right. "What's trueeee?"

 _"Can you seriously not (static) remember your name?"_

Zero then tottered to the left. "Nope. The Director said I had a big whack in 2017. Everything gets fuzzy-wuzzy after that. He told me that some Cemetery Wind guys recovered me under some wreckage. My head was cut like a watermelon, apparently. My legs were all spaghetti, too. He said all of the tendons were squeezed out like toothpaste. Oh! A foster home was crushed, I think. I guess I lived there? Who knows. It's not like it matters or anything."

A gut-churning image of a bloodied and battered child-version of Zero with her head split open and her legs shredded like noodles entered Bumblebee's imagination. It disturbed him greatly. _"It totally does matter! Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"_

The answer came like flying lightning. "'Cause the Director said it didn't matter, and since— _hic!_ —I'm apart of Cemetery Wind, I would be infringing on their data control policy by telling you. All agents are sworn to secrecy."

 _"And that's it? There's nothing more?"_

"I guess not. It's all just a big blank black whenever I try thinking about it."

Bumblebee tried to assert something, but nothing came out. His radio dial had gotten stuck. He withdrew a cunctatory servo from around Zero and started meddling with his throat. Questions were swimming inside of his head like a fish in a bowl, and he found himself growing more and more miffed as the nano-kliks ticked on and on with no payoff. He had so much to say, so much to ask, but he couldn't because his radio was suddenly acting so preliterate and jumpy.

Finally, after a few keyed up twists and yanks, the device ticked and Bumblebee was able to speak again. But he'd had enough at this stage and put Zero down. He then did something that was profoundly unlike him and—without any regard for the flowers—transformed, and out from his Camaro came his holoform.

Zero's footing waned, which caused her moonlit shadow to look like a wispy eidolon to the people who were watching her from afar. Giving Bumblebee a pleading look, she said, "'Bee, we should go..."

"After I ask you some more things."

"Will it take long? I'm tiiiired."

"That depends on you and your readiness to talk to me. Here—" Bumblebee outstretched his hand and beckoned Zero to join him inside his Camaro form. "Sit down."

Zero grappled for his fingers and slumped into shotgun, her physical fainéance increasing tenfold upon making contact with his cozy leather seats. Bumblebee sat in the driver's side and latched his own door shut, squirming a little. Sitting inside himself always had a way of making him feel extremely uncomfortable.

"Zero… I think it's time we had a decent bull session," he said flatly. "Like about NEST, Cemetery Wind, and most importantly, this _'Director.'_ But first I have to challenge you on something: the timeline. What you told me doesn't make any sense at all. Cemetery Wind demobilized in 2014, but you just said that you were picked up by them after you turned twelve. That was in 2017. _How?_ The TRF replaced them by that point. How did they manage to branch out and go incognito for over a decade without anyone knowing? And why?"

"'Bee, I don't get why you're asking me this. I already said that I'm not allowed to say anythingggg..."

"Zero, please just… Ugh, please just cooperate. I need this. I have to know."

Zero flung her arms up in the air like a dead fish. "But _whyyyy_? For NEST? For that Major General? For the other Autobots?"

Bumblebee started Rhadamanthine. "No, it's for me." _And Sam_ , he thought. But then he abated. "Zero, I'm begging you."

That seemed to do the trick. The final palisades of Zero's sober veneer fell, and whatever equivocations she still held onto were repressed by Bumblebee's earnest appeal and his somber disposition. In that instance, she was on the same wavelength as Bumblebee, drunken stupor and all. She could empathize with his dubiety and hurt and felt some buried instinct to quell his displeasure emerge from inside her like a freshly born infant, new and ignorant to the world around it. "I just wanna sleepy sleep, but fiiiine," she said as she sat up a little. "Since you just _have_ to ask annoying questions and bother me like always..."

Bumblebee was wonderstruck.

This was happening. Zero was opening up. At long last, after months upon months of verbal and sometimes physical wrangling, he was going to get his replies. And all it took was to get her drunk.

"From what I've been told," she said, though with evident hesitancy, "Cemetery Wind never went away. They just restructured. A lotta people were afraid— _hic!_ —that the Autobots had infiltrated government, so they began gathering under the scenes."

Bumblebee smoothed his hair back. "But again, how? That takes money. Cemetery Wind has made techno-organics, for crying out loud! Who is pledging the funds to develop literal cyborgs and portable ground bridges? And while I'm at it, what was the deal with Windblade's stolen cache pod? I know you know something about that."

"Slow down, 'Bee! My head hurts." Zero rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, disheveling her already tangled bangs even more. "I guess the Director has connections to some affluent people in other countries? Lots of humans don't like your kind. They want— _hic!_ —you all dead 'cause they think you'll kill us all. But they're afraid. That's why you haven't seen much of them for the past decade. They can't openly challenge NEST, so they do things secretly. But I messed all that up when you captured me. Now everyone knows. And I have no clue about the cache thingy. Sorry."

"Okay, interesting." Bumblebee was still skeptical but wanted to keep the ball rolling, so he chose not to grill Zero about Windblade's cache pod. "How is it that Cemetery Wind has been able to successfully make an average human into, well, a machine hybrid?"

"Oooooh! That's all different. Ya know Lock… Lock… Lockup? Or maybe it was something else…"

Bumblebee's brows snapped together. "Lockdown?" he said, putting sufficient emphasis on the _'down'_ portion. "Yeah, I know him. A bit of a crazy fragger, that one. He's deader than a doornail, though. Optimus Prime and Cade made sure of that years ago."

"Lockdown left _tonssss_ of things behind. A lot of dossiers, technology, the works."

"So somehow the leftover Cemetery Wind supporters managed to get their hands on Lockdown's stuff? But that was all seized by the government. I would know, I saw it myself!"

"Omigosh, I just said the things he left behind! Like hard-drives and hidden weapons and stuff. He worked with the Director, so the Director knew where to look after he was patched up."

Bumblebee scootched closer to Zero. "The Director. It always comes back to this Director guy with you. But who is he? What's his name? How on Earth does this man have so much influence?"

"'Beeeee," Zero carped in a way that was not unlike a small child bellyaching over their missing blanky. She was steadily getting fed up with all of his questions and her gyrating locale and found that keeping her lids open was becoming more of a workout than anything else. Plus, there was a nasty tingling in the back of her throat that was only getting nastier by the second. She was salivating at an unnatural rate and couldn't make heads or tails as to why. "I dunno, okayyyy? Now can we go already? I'm chilly!"

"No, Zero," Bumblebee replied, clinging to his newfound upper-hand with a little too much vim. He was close. So, so close. Just a bit more prodding and everything would be solved. He was on the cusp of a breakthrough and wasn't about to let it pass him by. "Tell me—who is the Director?"

"'Beeee—"

"Who is he?"

"'Beeeeee! I wanna go!"

"Who is he!?"

Zero shielded her mouth and rushed out the door like a scalded cat. The salivating had achieved its climax, and her throat burned with an execrable brew of John Barleycorn and bile. She kecked in a patch of posies off to the side, leaving Bumblebee in a state of shellshock.

* * *

The start of the following morning was just as chaotic as the previous night's end.

The fallout from Zero's self-indulgence swamped her, and she cursed her past self for not following Jett's rules as she sat before her hotel room's toilet bowl, dry-heaving at random intervals, occasionally succeeding in emptying her guts after every painful fifth heave or so.

Bumblebee paced outside the door, filled with worry over Zero's wellbeing. After her bout in the garden, he'd brought her back to their joint hotel room, where she promptly spent a fair portion of the night sweating cannonballs and gasping in agony. She had woken up early with the need to throw up again, and he had wanted to give her something to help with the alcohol-induced sickness, but she'd bolted to the restroom, leaving him stranded outside with little way of providing assistance.

Zero hacked and hurled a few more times, which prompted Bumblebee to ask if she was doing okay. She obviously wasn't, but he still felt the need to say something. Doing so made him feel slightly less useless.

As he had expected, she didn't grace him with a coherent sentence. Only more grotesque vomiting came his way, which was followed in succession by a clamorous thud.

Bumblebee grew unsettled by the thud and jiggled the knob. "Zero," he said, trying to sound authoritative, but failing miserably. He recognized the weakness in his voice and tried again. "Zero!" This time he accomplished his goal by not sounding quite as meek.

Zero coughed, then set about dabbing her chin with a nearby strand of toilet paper. She had collapsed, hence the thud, and the tiniest cut had opened up underneath her chin, stinging as a thin stream of ichor dripped down her neck and into the fold of her clavicle. She heard Bumblebee's shouting of her name, and though her first inclination was to ignore him and keep on writhing in her own misery, her instincts told her that if she didn't say something, then he would keep on yelling, which would exacerbate the intensity of her hangover and make her more miserable in turn.

"Stay quiet," she ordered with no trace of jollity. She sunk against the cold marble of the restroom floor and held her stomach and squeezed her eyes shut. The pain she was experiencing was immense. No wonder why Jett had kept alcohol away from her as if it were the plague; the after-effects from consuming too much were nightmarish.

Bumblebee pointlessly tried the knob again. "What's going on in there? What was that noise I just heard?"

Zero rolled over. "It wasn't anything. Go away."

"Can I do anything for you? Anything at all?"

"You can get lost."

"Out of the question."

"I hate you."

"I'm sure you do. Water?"

"That would involve me unlocking the door. I don't want to move."

"I bet you don't, but it might help."

"Unless you mix a pain-reliever into it, I have my doubts."

"At least you're relatively back to normal. Granted, you are acting way meaner than usual, but I prefer it to your weird happy-drunk-self."

Zero covered her head with her arms and wretched. "Die."

"I'll take that as a queue to go get your water. That door better be unlocked when I get back, by the way."

"Urgh…"

Bumblebee went into the kitchen area and pulled out a ceramic cup from one of the treen cupboards. Holding the cup under the nozzle of the sink, he turned the water on cold and filled it up to a medium height. When he got back to the door, he found out quickly that it was still locked. "Hey—" he started, but then he heard a click, followed by a slump after.

Bumblebee opened the door. Right off the bat, he was hit with the astringent scent that came with technicolor yawns. Zero was doubled over on the floor like a sack of potatoes, sweating and grimacing, obviously suffering quite a bit. Turning off his nasal receptors, Bumblebee knelt beside her and placed the cup in front of her face. At first, she didn't acknowledge him or the cup, for her eyes were closed, but after opening them, she took his gift of mercy and placed it to her lips.

Bumblebee studied Zero as she drank the water. All sorts of things were wrong. Her hair? Mussed. Her face? It had a deathlike pallor. Her clothes? Wrinkled, and in desperate need of a proper washing. Her neck? A peculiar red line trailed down it and into her shirt. Interesting.

"What's that?" asked Bumblebee, pointing below Zero's chin.

Zero chugged the last bit of water. "It's nothing."

"You're bleeding."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Why are you being so argumentative with me?"

Zero placed the cup back down on the floor and laid next to it slowly. "I feel ill. Anyway, you got me the water, so now you can leave."

"But what if you fall again? I'd rather you not bash your head against the floor and get a concussion."

Zero clenched her teeth as she aggressively propped herself up. "Autobot, has anyone ever told you that you worry far too much? Look, I'm nauseous, and I would prefer it if you didn't see me like this."

Surprise overcame Bumblebee. "Why not? You're not in the best state, yeah, but I'm not here to make fun of you for it."

Zero lulled in the direction of the toilet seat and covered her mouth as if she were going to throw up again. "Gosh, do I honestly need to spell it out for you? I don't want you in here because it's...

"It's…?"

" _Embarrassing!_ It's _embarrassing!_ "

With that explanation, the mech understood and began patting the woman on the back, seeing as she was close to having another fit. "It's okay. It's not like I care."

Zero gagged. "But I care," she replied with much difficulty. "It's gross and shameful and humiliating."

"There's no need for you to feel that way around me. We all have our shortcomings."

"Speak for yourself. It's not like an Autobot can get sick from near alcohol poisoning."

A steady smile stretched across Bumblebee's face. "Sure I can. High grade, remember?"

Zero's expression suddenly held a strange level of serenity to it—like she had resigned herself to some otherworldly truth.

"What is it?" Bumblebee asked, thinking she had something to add.

"I'm going to throw up again."

* * *

By the time Zero got herself together, it was a few minutes past twelve.

Crosshairs, Hot Rod, and all of the Yeagers were seated outside the manor, chatting and enjoying each other's company when Bumblebee pulled into the driveway with Zero as his antipathetic passenger. She was still very much affected by the hangover she had acquired, but the sick feeling that had been stuck in the pit of her gut for the whole morning had since ebbed away.

"Ow, my head. The sun is too bright," Zero complained as she drew back from the light like a vampire.

 _"Y_ _ou could've stayed behind."_

Zero squinted her eyes closed and tugged at her neckline. Both the light and the heat weren't really helping her with her headache very much. "No, I couldn't have done that. That would've been rude of me. The Yeagers have been kind enough to accommodate my presence for the last few days, and I don't want them to think ill of me by denying them basic courtesy on the second to last day of our stay."

 _The second to last day of our stay..._ Bumblebee recapped in his mind. _That's right, after today, we have to prepare to go back to NEST. NEST…_

"'Bee! Milady!"

The pair's attention diverted from one another and instead drifted onto Cogman, who was beckoning them over with excessive ferocity. Zero clamored out of the Camaro and started meandering up the manor's front steps, whereas Bumblebee switched over to his robot mode and took a seat alongside Hot Rod.

"Bienvenue, Bumblebee~"

 _"Gracious as usual."_

"Mon ami, graciousness is my specialty~" Hot Rod practically sung, feeling suave and full of good cheer.

Bumblebee analyzed the milieu and noticed something was amiss. Crosshairs was gone. _"...Hey, where's the other one?"_

Hot Rod did not fully comprehend the query at first, but had a lightbulb moment after a second and said, "Oh, Crosshairs. He said he didn't want to transform today. According to him, his thumb hurts worse when he's not a Corvette."

 _"So that's that? He's just gonna (static) ditch out on me?"_

"If it counts for anything, he told me it was good seeing you again, and he wanted me to keep you from annoying everyone too much for ze rest of ze day."

Bumblebee outwardly maledicted Crosshairs with a few graceless human words and a somnolent flutter of his doorwings. But inside, he couldn't deny feeling a slight sting in his spark. He didn't have much time left to stick around, and even though Crosshairs was fully aware of this, he was still bailing on their planned trip around the city. But Cogman did dislocate his thumb for being clumsy, so perhaps it was not Crosshairs but Bumblebee who was being selfish for wanting him to come along despite his injury.

Feeling an overwhelming urge to comfort the smaller mech, Hod Rod placed a perfectly-buffed servo on Bumblebee's shoulder. The youngling was always terrible at concealing his feelings, and right now, even in broad daylight, his disappointment shined off him like a lighthouse in the dark of the night. "Who needs ze prat? We'll show him what he missed by taking plenty of pictures and rubbing it in his face before you're shipped off again."

Bumblebee's antennas rose, although a bit too slowly for Hot Rod's liking.

"Yo! You guys! We're leaving!"

The two Autobots looked down. The owner of the yell was Cade.

Tessa looked at her father with sad beagle eyes. "So soon? But my phone is only on 50%..."

Cade didn't look pleased. "I told you to have all of your stuff charged before twelve."

Tessa raised her shoulders in a mock shrug. "Sorry, it's not like I spent last night socializing and drinking or anything."

Viviane grinned into her palm, finding much amusement in Tessa's rebellious words.

Cade, in high dudgeon, was about to voice his objections over his daughter's actions but wasn't given the opportunity to after being randomly jostled to the side by Cogman.

"That's enough bickering for now." Cogman clapped to get everyone's full attention. "Now, I want everyone to listen closely."

Cogman proceeded to mull over his plans for the evening, going into minor detail about some of the hotspots and sorting out who was going to be grouped with who. He also made sure to mention that they would switch groups around at the end of every second hour so that they could cover more ground.

Once Cogman finished his spiel, he, Viviane, and Tessa loaded themselves into Hot Rod. Cade, though, decided to ride with Bumblebee so he wouldn't be cramped, and so he could chat a bit more with his old friend.

Bumblebee welcomed this, as did Zero. She hoped that Cade would keep Bumblebee distracted while she drifted off. Whenever she was alone with Bumblebee for a ride, he tended to never to shut up. All she desired was some time to go over the events of the previous night without him incessantly begging her not to ignore him because he was bored.

"Do you know what time it is?" Cade asked Bumblebee, chipper and excited.

Bumblebee was quick to answer, for he was just as excited as Cade. _"It's time to rock and roll."_

* * *

Half the metropolis, it seemed, was under construction.

A new tower or ten popped out every few feet or so, competing skyscrapers raced well past the clouds, and a third and then a fourth viaduct stretched across some innocuous rivulet or pedway.

People of all kinds—male and female, young and old, large and small, muscular and bony, and fat and thin—were scattered everywhere. Mobile vendors and souvenir shops decorated the streets, their teenaged employees nonchalantly sipping at Starbucks lattes or checking their phones for updates on the latest celebrity gossip, unknowingly rousing memories in Zero in some manner or other as they did so.

Speaking of memories, ever since this morning, she had tried to stay as passive as possible. Bumblebee had yet to talk to her about their conversation from the night prior, and it was beginning to bother her. She recalled bits and pieces, most of them being hazy and muddled, but others were clear and sharp in her mind's eye. One such memory was of her admitting to him that she was an amnesiac. Another was of her offering him hairy details about the rationale behind Cemetery Wind's resurgence.

Typically, whenever she confessed something to him, she experienced shame or anger. She had a tendency to keep cold fury boxed up like dry ice, and whenever the lid was lifted, frigid smoke roiled and rose like hot magma within a wroth volcano.

But this time was unusual. She didn't feel shame. Yes, there was a nasty ache in her chest, which she presumed to be guilt or something or other, but there was no shame. She didn't know why this was, and though she was tempted to, she made no effort to decode her emotions. She didn't want to. That whole night had been a blemish on her character, and she just wanted to forget about it.

"Oi, girly!"

Zero felt a tap on her shoulder. She was standing in front of a boxy kiosk and had been browsing through its trinkets on autopilot. She hadn't realized there had been someone waiting behind her. "May I help you, sir?" Calling the person something as prim as sir was a bit of a stretch. He looked like a right chav, as Jett would've said. His shoddy trackies, gym shorts, and Burberry cap were hardly indicative of an average IQ, let alone an above-average one.

"Great, a bloody American," said the chav upon deciphering her accent. "Yeah, you can help me by running along now. You've been standing there forever, and I don't have all sodding week to wait."

Yes—a chav he most definitely was. "No," Zero said as she picked up two different keychains and dangled them in front of her face, inspecting them closely, unsure as to which one was superior in cuteness. "I'm not done yet."

The chav didn't appreciate this and took a bellicose step forward. "What, ya got cotton in your ears? Move it, lady!"

"Hey, you! Who do you think you're yelling at?" a not-so-far-off voice called out.

"Who the—?" The chav jerked around and was met with the sight of a crossed faced Bumblebee storming up to him, Viviane also in tow.

"What is going on here?" Bumblebee demanded once he got to the chav. "And why are you raising your voice at her?"

The chav looked like he had found the legendary pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Bumblebee was far shorter than he was, so he erroneously concluded that he would be an easy target. "Step off, cockwomble. That dumb broad has been here forever now. I have places to be."

Zero continued to jingle the keychains. _Pink or blue?_ she thought without any regard to the traction circulating around her.

Bumblebee flared up with anger. Who did this guy think he was, harassing random strangers, let alone Zero, who was microscopic by comparison to him?

"Now, now," said Viviane, feeling the need to interject. People like this were commonplace in London, and she knew just how to deal with them. "I think that's enough, don't you? I bet your mum wouldn't appreciate this type of behavior, especially towards a delightful young woman who's merely minding her own business in peace. Now scram or I'll call a cop over here and cause an even bigger scene."

The chav's self-assertive smirtle fell into a straight line at the word _'cop.'_ He had an edible wrapped up in his pocket, and he knew better than many that edibles and cops don't exactly mix very well. "Daft cow," he cursed before striding past Viviane and purposely bumping into Bumblebee's shoulder, eventually disappearing down one of the many city streets.

"Dead from the neck up, that lowlife," Viviane said. "Well, now that that's all said and done with, I'm rather parched. 'Bee, miss, would you like to go get some drinks?"

"No thank you, Mrs. Yeager. I'm not currently thirsty," said Zero.

"I think I saw a vending machine at the last intersection," Bumblebee added helpfully. "Do you wanna go back real quick?"

"No, no—that's quite alright. I'll go myself. I shouldn't be too long—only a minute or two."

Bumblebee was still a bit tense from their interaction with the chav, and made it obvious when he said, "Are you sure about that, Viviane?"

Viviane dismissed the alien with a sumptuous click of her heels. "I'll be back in no time flat."

And with that, she was off.

Bumblebee stared after Viviane as she evanesced into London's human concourse. Once she fully escaped his view, he wiped off his shoulder, disgusted, then stood beside Zero with grim verve. She still had both of the keychains in her hands, and she was still deciding on the better one of the two.

"Autobot, I want your opinion. Pink or blue?"

"Did that jerk hurt you? And what are you even doing?"

Zero grew addled by the first of the two questions. "Hurt me? Autobot, that chav was about as dangerous as a little rubber duck. He would have left me alone. Eventually."

"Chav? Rubber duck?" Bumblebee tapped his knuckles against his lips in ambivalence. That whole sentence was so unlike Zero that he had to ask, "Are you good? You didn't accept any dodgy brownies from anyone with dreadlocks, did you?"

Zero stuck her index finger through the jump ring of the blue keychain and started swinging it in circles. "No! That's what Jett would've said, at least. He would've called that man a chav, insulted his masculinity to some degree, and then probably would have punched him in the face. Actually, while I'm here, should I get something for Jett?"

"Huh?"

"Like a souvenir. But what would he fancy?" Zero fleetingly reflected on this quandary. "Hmm, he probably would just want me to get him some foreign Menthols. He can be such a child."

"Okay, okay. Forget I asked that. For real, though, please don't wander off alone in a strange place. Who knows, maybe if Viviane and I hadn't run up and confronted him, he would've done something."

"Like what? There are people everywhere. And I could fracture his skull by stepping on it with my weaker foot."

"You're not understanding me. I'm not insulting your strength. I'm just concerned with how placid you are acting. Why did you ignore the situation? You can't let people treat you like you don't belong. You're not an object to be pushed around."

Zero stopped twiddling with the kiosk's useless bric-a-brac. Bumblebee had involuntarily reminded her of something that had happened long ago, around the time when she had first met Jett. A G.I. had tripped her on her way back to her barracks and had taunted her in front of several other servicemen. The G.I. hadn't viewed Zero as an equal since she had legs of alien transformium and not human flesh.

When Jett had found out about the argy-bargy, he had grown enraged, having said, "Do you think that the universe gives even the most fleeting hint of a fuck that there are not that many people like you? I don't, at least. The only truly weird thing in existence is that things can be weird. Our time on Earth is limited, friend. Laugh in the face of people who deprive you of the feeling that you belong. You _do_ belong. You're a human. The only intelligent lifeform we've ever known of."

"But what about the robots? Am I not an offshoot of them?" Zero had replied.

"Pfft, those things? _Puh-lease_. Angel, last time I checked, machines acting on zeros and ones don't count as intelligent life. They're an infection, like measles or polio. You aren't. You have compassion."

"Don't call me Angel; you know my right designation. In any event, I still kill, and I usually don't feel much of anything when I do, so how is that a show of compassion?"

"You kill so innocents don't have to die. You value human life. The robots, however, kill indiscriminately. Men, women, children, _babies_ —none of it matters to them. They just want to watch the world burn while spreading their plague further and further across the cosmos, ravaging any biological race that just so happens to wander in their footpath. They're aberrations that deserve eradication. Think about it. If they're not terminated on Earth, then they're going to keep on murdering. They literally destroyed their entire planet. Nothing is off-limits for them."

Zero had said something to the degree of "Understood," and the conversation had ended not long after. Now that she looked at this interaction in retrospect, she found it rather intriguing. Jett had been so sure of himself—so confident in his assertions of the Cybertronian race—and she had believed him. In many respects, she still struggled not to believe him but knew better now. In a lot of ways, it was funny. Here she was, a being assigned with the express purpose of taking out Cybertronians, fraternizing with them and their allies as if they were lifelong friends. For the lengthiest amount of time, she had deemed them as objects, so having what she used to perceive as an object tell her she was not an object was a unique thing for her to experience.

"I ignored the situation because I am a soldier, Autobot. If someone happens to feel that I do not belong, then that is their opinion, and they are entitled to it. In a way, it makes sense. I don't belong here. I belong in a military facility—nowhere else."

Bumblebee was more than a little taken aback by this. "Why do you think you have to put up with garbage like that just because you are a soldier? Did the Director teach you that as well?"

"The Director is irrelevant to this conversation."

"Believe it or not, he is very relevant to this conversation since he made you like this, and it's wrong."

"Autobot—"

"And why are you calling me Autobot again? What happened to Bumblebee?"

"I was soused. My state of mind was... _highly_ ubiquitous."

An uncomfortable silence befell the dyad.

Zero took the merchandise she had been clinging to and placed them back on the kiosk counter, whereas Bumblebee sat down on a bench close by. Zero had no initial intention of joining him, but once he started patting the spot next to him, she decided to do as he wished.

"...What happened to you? Can you tell me that much?"

Zero gave Bumblebee an odd look. "I already told you last night. I suffered several injuries after my place of residence was crushed during the Unicron invasion and forgot half of my preceding lifespan because of it. What else is there for me to elaborate on?"

"No, not that." Bumblebee smoothed his hair back and bit his lip. "What I mean is after Cemetery Wind found you and took you in, what did they do to you? Did you understand what was going on? How did you feel? I mean, you told me you were a little kid when it all went down."

Zero felt a sudden urge to twitch as if she had ants in her pants. She hated talking about herself with a passion. "It was pretty horrible and gave me way too much to think about at such a young age, but the situation provided me the gift of critical thinking," she said, hoping that what she was going to say next would satiate the mech's curiosity. "Nothing is as it appears and the whole world would rather you not take a look behind the curtain. The lasting impact of the mechanization process on me was to make me eternally inquisitive. Every situation has an alternate angle. Every person has an agenda. Consideration of every variable is paramount in every scenario."

"That's sad, Zero. That's really sad. I'm sorry that had to happen to you."

Zero paused for a long time. "...I'm sorry as well, Bumblebee. I'm sorry that you're now privy to this knowledge. I was supposed to take all of this with me to the grave—but now look at me. I don't even know who or what I'm supposed to be anymore."

Bumblebee opened and closed his mouth several times, unaware of the faint clacking sound of mary janes approaching him until he felt a cold object press against his cheek.

"I got my drink!" Viviane said with a dignified flip of her hair. "A Pepsi."

The sudden coldness made an artificial chill zip down Bumblebee's back. "Gah! Cut it out."

Viviane cracked the can open and guzzled a fourth of her drink, happy and completely ignorant to the conversation that had just gone on without her.

All three proceeded down the street, going back to their previous musings. But this time, unlike before, Bumblebee noticed when Zero purposely dragged behind him and Viviane.

And this time, he understood the reason why.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 ** _Chav : Provoking and annoying little cunts that hunt for their prey nightly on the roads of Northern Britain. These territorial little rodents can be seen impregnating thirteen-year-olds, stealing from your garage, walking around in public whilst fondling their testicles, and wearing Burberry caps. (Urban Dictionary)_**

 ** _Cockwomble : __A foolish or obnoxious person._**

 ** _Technicolor yawn : A drawn-out way of saying someone threw up._**


End file.
